Quite A While Now
by 8 Hands
Summary: In the care of Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage after Malfoy Manor, Hermione learns that things aren't always what they seem. And that Fleur can't cook for shit. Fleurmione
1. But I Know Better As My Eyes Adjust

Chapter 1 - But I Know Better As My Eyes Adjust

* * *

"Hermione."

Hermione came to and was immediately hit by too much too fast. Everything _hurt_. _Everywhere_. Her eyes remained shut (to block the oncoming tears) as she let out a low hiss of obscenities and fisted the sheets below her in attempt to alleviate the pain. Realizing that was getting her absolutely nowhere, she made attempts to make the bed swallow her whole. She could do that, right? She was a witch after all.

"Hermione." came the gruff voice again. The voice was slightly patronizing and Hermione couldn't understand why it would be. _Jesus_ , where even was she?

She opened her eyes (seemingly the only thing she could do without dying) and saw one tall order of a Weasley. Bill to be exact. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail as he looked her over. She stared at the ceiling, noticing shells lodged into the plaster. Shell Cottage, Ron told them about this place. Hermione looked back towards Bill. Oh God, was she dead?

"I'm not dead." It came out of her mouth before she could even think about how stupid it sounded. She wasn't sure who exactly she was trying to convince, Bill or herself, but the statement reverberated inside herself enough to know it was true. _God_ , what was she _on_?

Bill just nodded his head with a small smile, "I know." He sat into the chair beside the bed and pulled a tray— filled with what Hermione could only assume were potions, alongside him.

Hermione watched as Bill read the labels and picked out certain vials. Expectations of any kind of conversation were thrown out the window as she saw how concentrated he was. Her eyes roamed to the bottle of Skele-Gro, and was immediately reminded of why exactly she felt like The Hogwarts Express decided to run her over.

Her breath caught in her throat and her lungs constricted. _Oh_. She felt nauseous as blackness crept in the corners of her eyesight. In her head, but only for a moment, a sick game show of Wheel of Fortune played out. Oddly enough Alex Trebek was hosting.

Hermione spun the wheel — hoping for 'Choke on Snails,' or at the _very_ least, 'Drown In a Pensieve.'

The clicks of the wheel slowed and the needle hovered dangerously over 'Hit By a Train' and 'Be Tortured By a Blood Supremacist.' It landed on the latter, and the audience cheered. Alex Trebek smiled and patted her on the back.

It wasn't funny, so she had no idea why she was laughing. Or maybe calling the choking for breath and tears in her eyes 'laughing' was a reach.

Bill immediately dropped the vials onto the tray and moved closer to the bed.

"Hermione." His voice was low and assuring. Hermione shut her eyes and shook her head, her breath ragged. "You're at Shell Cottage," he paused to gauge her reaction. "Harry and Ron are here too." Her breathing slowed slightly and Bill took it as a sign to keep with this direction. He took her hand and his eyes fell to the bandage on her arm before he quickly collected himself and continued. "They're in the kitchen, eating all of my food." Hermione smiled at Bill's joking tone as her breathing evened out. "Dean and Luna are helping Fleur with dinner." Hermione nodded to silently communicate to Bill to keep going. "Luna checked the kitchen for Nargles, whatever those are."

Bill took in a slow breath, not yet sure if Hermione remembered her arrival to Shell Cottage. He was about to inform her of Ollivander and Griphook when she interrupted him.

"Dobby.." It came out breathy and she wasn't sure if Bill had heard her. "Dobby died didn't he?" She looked Bill in his eyes, hoping for some sort of communication other than a 'yes'.

Bill looked down, pursed his lips and nodded his head.

Hermione turned away, closed her eyes tightly and pushed her head further into the pillow. Bill's hand left hers.

She sat there for a few moments, listening to the clinking of glass, as Bill worked silently.

"I came in here to give you your potions," Bill said weakly. His eyes kept flicking over her body in mild concern. Her eyes followed his to the bandage on her arm and before she could ask, Bill opened his mouth. "Fleur couldn't get rid of the scarring," he shook his head. "She even—" Bill's brows drew together as he clamped his mouth shut before saying anything more.

Hermione, too tired to contemplate what _that_ meant, swallowed thickly before speaking. "I guess I get to join scar club." _What_? Why the hell did she _say_ that?

Bill gave a slight snort. "Welcome," he smiled. "But there's meetings on Thursdays," he said seriously.

A barely-there laugh escaped Hermione's lips, "I'll have to check my schedule."

Hermione eyed the potions near her bedside again, focusing on the Skele-Gro once again. "Is that for me?" She felt the soreness, but she didn't feel anything _broken_.

Bill followed her eyes to the potion and shook his head "Griphook," he explained plainly. "His legs." The conversation was growing tense, she could tell Bill wanted to say something, or ask. He handed her a small vial after he swirled it around in his fingers and explained, "For the pain."

Hermione downed the contents and grimaced immediately after. "That's horrid," she coughed.

Bill put his hands up in mock surrender and laughed, "Fleur made it, you can go thank her." Hermione smiled lightly and rolled her eyes. "I'll be sure to." Bill nodded and raised his eyebrows, "She uh, actually has been your main caretaker, since…" He seemed a bit lost in what he was trying to say. "She's been real nice and gentle," he finished.

"Oh," said Hermione. Was that what Bill had wanted to say? Was he trying to score brownie points for Fleur? Hermione was sure she didn't need any, not after this.

Bill looked around the room for a moment before his eyes landed on a chair with folded clothes. Hermione's eyes followed him as he picked them up and handed them to her. "They're Fleur's," he said with a barely suppressed smile. Hermione sat up with a small wince and her hands came up to receive them. She looked up at Bill once more, and caught his mildly amused expression. Hermione bemusedly lifted an eyebrow at his behavior, and was about to ask Bill why he was acting so strangely, but before she could get any words out he turned around and headed for the door.

"Dinner should be ready anytime now," he said casually. He paused, turned around and rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Though, Fleur can't cook for shit, so hopefully Dean and Luna can save us all," he finished with a laugh. He turned towards the door again to leave but Hermione stopped him.

"Bill."

He turned around to face her with his eyebrows lifted.

Hermione opened her mouth to continue but found that she wasn't really sure what she was going to say next. 'What the fuck are you on?' wasn't really appropriate to say, so she settled. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

Bill smiled softly and walked through the door, leaving Hermione to let out a great huff. Now wasn't the time to participate in mind games, especially ones from Weasleys.

Hermione looked down at the clothes Bill had grabbed for her and sighed. This was gonna be a long night.

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _The Antlers – Epilogue_


	2. I Remember How Cloth Hung

\- I don't have a concrete plan for this, like, at all.

Chapter 2 - I Remember How Cloth Hung

* * *

There was an argument. Or at least what sounded like one.

Hermione sighed and continued down the stairs. Slowly taking each step, she tried to recount her day so far. She doesn't remember getting here, at all. Vaguely, she remembers Dobby's funeral, an arm wrapped around her while she tried to stand, and the sand between her toes.

She remembers the feeling of helplessness as someone frantically worked above her, muttering incantations that Hermione recognized as healing spells.

The voices became more apparent as she neared the kitchen. Hermione stilled in the hallway, trying to discern what was being said. (A voice in the back of her head said that eavesdropping was childish, but she really wasn't inclined on giving a fuck right now.) She took a step nearer to the kitchen and heard Harry's voice.

"We can't stay here! There's… The—"

Harry was interrupted by Fleur. " _J'en ai rien à foutre_ _!_ Hermione is _hurt_ , and you are safe here!" Fleur huffed before her voice grew softer. "Just… _tell us_ what's going on, Harry."

Hermione needlessly observed that Fleur's accent was faint now. She shook her head, that wasn't really important at the moment.

She heard Harry scoff, but before anything could escalate she heard Bill step in. "Save it. Hermione will be down soon, I'm sure she doesn't want to hear you two argue." Hermione furrowed her brows and bit her lip. That's exactly what she was doing. Should she just walk in and pretend she had heard nothing? She should wait for the natural lull in the conversation, right? _Shit_ , was that _now_?

As Hermione shifted her weight, the floorboards underneath her creaked and she could feel the heat rush up to her face at being caught. Heads snapped up in her direction. She stepped fully into the kitchen while nervously looking around the room.

"Uh-um, hi." _Super_ articulate. Hermione crossed her arms in her wool sweater (Fleur's) and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

No one said anything. She took a deep breath in. Was she supposed to say something?

Hermione's eyes landed on the pot of pasta Ron had been hovering over. After clearing her throat, she asked, "Spaghetti?"

Thankfully, Ron came barreling across the kitchen, almost knocking over Dean in the process, and hugged her tightly.

She buried her face in his chest, trying not to laugh hysterically because Ron was definitely wearing one of Bill's shirts that said, 'Cannabis Soup', instead of 'Campbell's Soup'. She chuckled and pulled back to say, "Nice shirt."

Ron looked down and frowned in confusion. "Bill won't tell me what it means," he whispered conspiratorially. She was about to joke back 'Maybe that's for the best', when Harry stepped in and hugged her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. She knew what Harry was apologizing for. She huffed in exasperation and squeezed his shoulders. "Well I'm not." They drew back and Harry dipped his head down, smiling lightly.

* * *

Dinner was… Interesting.

Luna, sitting sitting next to Dean, tilted her head to the side, as if examining Hermione from afar. "I'm glad to see you well, Hermione. You seem to be wrackspurt free," she said with a smile.

"Oh, um, thank you, Luna," Hermione replied, while twirling her fork into her pasta. Wrackspurts were bad right?

Bill, who sat next to Hermione, had adorned his face with a shit-eating grin throughout most of the meal. Hermione looked to Fleur to see if she noticed that her husband was batshit insane.

Fleur was seated opposite to her, and Hermione was about to call her name to get her attention, to thank her for all she had done of course, when she noticed Fleur was trying to look anywhere but in her direction. Instead she was fidgeting with the tablecloth, and looking annoyed at the cutlery.

Hermione, now confused, looked back to Bill, who was busy rolling his eyes and chuckling. What? Did she miss something? She looked around the table, and no one else seemed to notice the silent play that was happening before them. Hermione let out a deep breath and jumped back into the small talk the table had eased into.

Not five minutes in, Ron, with his mouth full of spaghetti, slapped Dean on the back and exclaimed, "Well done mate!" It sounded like a garbled mess.

Dean, however, was now choking on his meal (Which Hermione can safely assume Dean himself had prepared) whilst Ron looked on concerned. Ron's eyes grew wide and slapped Dean harder on the back to cease his choking. The whole table now turned to watch the debacle play out. Luna said something about the Nargles messing with the food.

Hermione spoke up, now concerned that Dean was going to die at the hands of… spaghetti and Ron.

"Ronald, stop slapping him, I don't think—" Hermione was cut off by a short incantation from Fleur's mouth and a flourish of her wand.

Dean, now looking less purple, smiled (although it looked like a grimace) at Fleur. "Thanks," he said through wheezes. Fleur nodded curtly and locked her gaze on Hermione. Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Was it getting hot in here?

"I think it's best for you to get more rest, Hermione," Fleur suggested.

 _What?_ Hermione's eyebrows shot up at the recommendation (demand), and quickly shot a look at the clock in the kitchen. It was six. She returned her attention to Fleur with a mildly exasperated look, who had an eyebrow cocked at Hermione; she didn't seem to be amused by the resistance. The dinner table grew impossibly more silent.

Hermione was about to give a retort, when Bill interrupted with a nervous chuckle. "That sounds like a good idea," he turned to look at her, "Doesn't it Hermione?"

Um, _no_. It didn't. But Bill was giving her a pleading look. She briefly wondered if he inherited puppy dog eyes from his attack.

Hermione blinked a few times, her eyes shifted to the boys'. Was this a joke? They looked even more confused than she did.

"Ok," mumbled Hermione, surprising herself. Maybe she _was_ tired. Or maybe she simply was not in the mood to argue with someone who was generous enough to offer their home to her.

Hermione stood, awkwardly turning in the direction of her room, muttering something about not being a child, when Fleur stood as well, face neutral.

"I will accompany you," she said matter of factly, and came around the table to place her hand on Hermione's back. Hermione let out an involuntary shiver from the contact and looked back at Bill in alarm. He looked pleased with himself. The rest of the guests were openly watching the display, although Ron seemed to still be trying to inhale all the food in front of him.

"Oh, um, yeah— Ok," Hermione had spluttered out. Did she do something to offend her? Maybe Fleur was taking her out back to kill her.

Hermione shook her head slightly, now was not the time for intrusive thoughts.

When they made it to the room Hermione turned to Fleur, ready to ask what she had done wrong.

Fleur beat her to it. "I hope you like it." A smile ghosted her lips.

Hermione blinked slowly and parted her lips, "What?" She really hoped this conversation wasn't going to continue to be this uncomfortable.

"My room," Fleur supplied while stepping nearer to her. "I wanted you to be comfortable."

 _'When you murdered me?'_ She really had to stop thinking Fleur was going to kill her. She had nursed her back to health. That's like, the total opposite of murdering.

Then it hit her. She had been staying in Fleur's room. But that didn't make any sense. Harry had told her Griphook was staying in Bill and Fleur's room. Did Fleur just have an extra room? She glanced around for a moment and spotted picture frames that held people with a striking resemblance to Fleur. One frame in particular, held a girl that was making silly faces; was that Gabrielle?

Before she could ask, Fleur vaguely gestured with her hands to Hermione. "Do you need any help getting out of that?"

Hermione looked down at her sweater (Fleur's) and bit her lip. She had trouble getting into it a while ago when Bill had gave it to her. Her arms had felt like they were going to fall off.

"Uh, yes," Hermione laughed nervously, "My arms… they, uh, hurt still." She wondered if she lost her ability to talk like a normal person. Maybe she should stop speaking. _Yes_. Good idea.

Fleur nodded, looking concerned, and she lifted the hem of the sweater up. As she watched Hermione's face contort with pain when the sweater finally came off, she asked, "William gave you the potion, no?"

Hermione nodded, not yet ready to break her resolution of thirty seconds ago.

She looked up at Fleur, who was… staring at her? Hermione looked down at herself, clad in only a bra and sweatpants (Fleur's).

Hermione swallowed. Maybe she was right about Fleur murdering her.

Hermione looked back up at Fleur, (She hoped she didn't look like she _wanted_ to get murdered), and Fleur broke the silence by clearing her throat.

"I should let you rest."

Hermione nodded in agreement. Though, she was totally sure she was going to pick something off Fleur's bookshelf in a few minutes.

Fleur turned for the door, and Hermione's resolution seemingly flew out the window.

"Fleur!"

Fleur turned quickly, looking mildly alarmed at Hermione's raised voice. Hermione wanted to pull out her hair; could she not say anything normally today?

"I wanted to thank you," Hermione swallowed, "For, well...everything." That was somewhat normal. Small victories, Granger.

Fleur smiled, "Of course, Hermione," and promptly left the room.

Hermione dramatically flung herself on the bed and immediately regretted it after feeling her muscles ache beneath her. She groaned. Fleur _was_ trying to kill her.

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _James Vincent McMorrow - Cavalier_


	3. Maybe It All Will Turn Out Fine

\- The Fleurmione fandom is DEAD. Also I've never heard of an update schedule. If you see a mistake somewhere feel free to tell me. There's only a 60% chance that I will ignore it.

Chapter 3 - Maybe It All Will Turn Out Fine

* * *

The past few days had been considerably less shitty than Hermione's first day at Shell Cottage.

Luna had become her new roommate, which wasn't surprising considering the amount of people taking shelter here. Hermione was secretly thankful; sitting in the dark by herself was not her favorite activity as of late. In fact, her first night alone was spent under the covers reciting potion ingredients in her head. Which was fucked, because it reminded her of potions class, which reminded her of Snape, who reminded her of Death Eaters, and _ugh_.

Harry, Ron, and Dean, were holed up in the study. Unfortunately, the walls were thin, and Hermione could hear Ron's demonic snoring loud and clear (She also heard a scuffle one night, which Harry later told her was Dean hitting Ron with a pillow repeatedly because of his snoring).

Ollivander was shipped off to Ron and Bill's Aunt Muriel's, after the trio (Harry) had interrogated him with questions of the Elder Wand and ownerships. Hermione and Ron were filled in about the game of hot potato the Elder Wand had been through, as well as the wands in their possession. Hermione longed for her lost wand, and found it incredibly ironic and _fucked up_ that they now had Death Eater wands in their arsenal.

Griphook… well Griphook was being a bitch. She could tell Bill and Fleur had wanted the goblin to accompany Ollivander out of their home, but Harry had insisted that he was still needed. Griphook _refused_ to eat with them, and Hermione wasn't even shocked to hear Fleur mutter "Good riddance" under her breath one night at dinner.

Now, Hermione was seated on one of the couches in the living area (Which also doubled as sleeping quarters for Bill and Fleur) along with Ron, and Harry who was seated on the couch opposite to theirs. She sighed as she covered herself with a blanket that had been sitting atop the couch. Their conversation ended a while ago; somehow bank robbing wasn't a fun topic to talk about.

Hermione stilled as a scent hit her. _Holy shit_. Hermione looked down, fisted the blanket and brought it up to her nose with wide eyes. It smelled _really_ good. Like, intoxicatingly good.

She turned to Ron, who was seated upside down on the other side of the couch, (Out of boredom she assumes) and shoved the blanket near his face.

"Smell this," Hermione demanded.

Ron, who was not in a position to smell things, rolled over onto the floor and sat to face Hermione. He raised his eyebrows as Hermione handed the blanket over, and sniffed it. A confused look crossed his face (still red due to his previous position) as he looked back at Hermione.

"Uh, it smells nice I guess," Ron offered, not affected by the scent whatsoever.

Hermione almost seemed offended. "You _guess_?"

Ron shrugged and threw the blanket at Harry, who's glasses became skewed when the blanket made contact with his head. "You smell it, mate," Ron suggested.

Harry frowned at the disruption of his thoughts and gave a slightly bewildered look to Hermione while holding the blanket. "You want me to smell this?"

She gave an exasperated scoff with an impatient " _Yes_."

Harry brought the blanket to his nose with his brows furrowed in confusion. "What exactly am I supposed to be smelling?" he asked.

Hermione let out a breathless " _What?_ " as she got up from her couch and crossed the space between them to sit next to Harry. With eyebrows raised at Hermione's newfound proximity, Harry handed her the blanket.

Hermione all but snatched the blanket out of Harry's hands and buried her nose deep into it. She inhaled deeply with her eyes closed, and yes, it still smelled wonderful. " _What the fuck_ ," she whispered as she brought the blanket down to her lap.

A chuckle came from Ron's place on the floor and Hermione snapped her head in his direction. "I don't know why you can't smell it! It's like.." Hermione shook her head, unable to find the words. "Like…"

Before Hermione could finish her thought, the front door slammed shut as Luna and Dean came through the living room with firewood cradled in their arms.

"Hello friends!" Luna said brightly, making her way to the fireplace with Dean. Harry smiled at them and gave them a pleasant hello.

As the newcomers deposited the wood next to the fireplace, Luna cheerily asked, "What were you guys doing?" Hermione looked at the two. Both looked tired from their task (Dean also was wearing one of Bill's shirts that said 'Eat Your Greens' with a cannabis leaf in the middle) and Hermione felt a little guilty. The two were definitely being productive and contributing. And what was she doing? Talking about robbing banks and smelling blankets.

Hermione's eyes snapped to Ron, who was looking at her like the cat that ate the canary. Her eyes widened and she shook her head minutely as to convey ' _You'd better the fuck not_ '. Hermione would rather not look insane to the majority of the house. He turned back to Luna, who was now sitting on the couch with Dean, and opened his mouth.

"Herm—" Ron was cut off by another door slam, and the occupants of the living room swiveled their heads in the direction of the sound.

Bill walked in with Fleur trailing behind him, both their arms occupied with groceries. They both seemed a little startled at the house meeting going on. Hermione caught Fleur's eyes glance down at the blanket in her lap and briefly wondered if it was hers. Was it perfume? Why hadn't she smelled it before in Fleur's room?

Short greetings were shared as Ron cleared his throat loudly.

"As I was saying, Hermione's gone batsh—" he was interrupted with a decorative pillow smashed into his face.

Heads turned to Ron's assailant (Hermione) as Ron rolled around on the rug with full bellied laughter. Hermione slapped her hands onto her now red face in embarrassment. _Great way to not look insane, Granger_.

Bill gave a small chuckle and raised his eyebrows at Hermione to address her. "Well, now that we established Granger is batshit," he turned on his heel to head to the kitchen, "We've got food!"

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation and threw herself further into the couch.

* * *

"Now Fleur," Bill said seriously, "I've got some peanut butter," he stuck his hands in one of the bags and pulled out two jars. "And jelly," he finished. "Are you ready, for this _daunting_ task of sandwich making?" He thrusted his hands over the kitchen island to where Fleur was standing, offering the two jars as if they were sacred artifacts.

Hermione watched as Fleur rolled her eyes and threw a piece of bread at Bill's face. "William, you are utterly intolerable," she scoffed.

Watching the scene play out with interest from her seat at the table, Hermione heard Harry let out a deep sigh next to her. She inclined her head to take a look at him. He too was watching the couple's banter, with a sad smile.

"I wish we could stay here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at the worn wood of the table (Ron had set the tablecloth aflame a few hours ago trying to work with Pettigrew's wand) and nodded her head. "Me too," she whispered back quietly.

* * *

The books in the study were mostly in French. And considering how Hermione's only knowledge of the French language besides greetings was from a song and extremely suggestive, ( _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi_ ), she really didn't think she was gonna get anywhere with them.

Hermione placed her hands on her knees and stood up from her crouched position with a huff.

"Is Bill fucking illiterate?" she asked to the bookshelf. Fleur couldn't be the only one in this house who read.

A small laugh came from behind her and Hermione turned around so fast she rammed her midsection into the desk. _Smooth_. Hermione, now red faced and in slight pain, greeted the intruder.

"Fleur! You scared me," she said with a nervous laugh. Was she getting worse at talking?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Fleur said with a genuine mix of concern and amusement. "And no, William can read," she supplied, "He keeps all his books in his room."

Hermione blinked, not sure what to say to that. It brought back the question she had the first day here. Do Bill and Fleur have separate rooms? Aren't married couples supposed to, ya know, share a room?

"Is there anything you were looking for in particular?" Fleur asked, who was now disobeying the laws of personal space. When did she get so close? Were her eyes always this blue?

Hermione was about to reply when a scent hit her nose. _Again_. A flashback of the blanket fiasco played back in her mind.

Another wave of déjà vu hit her again, but oddly enough she was sure it wasn't because of the smell. It was the words, the inflection, the tone — had Fleur asked her this before?

Words came out of her mouth before she could even process them. "You smell really good, Fleur." _Oh my god_. Hermione wondered how hard she would have to try to spontaneously combust.

Fleur looked taken aback for a moment, a small blush played across her cheeks. Her eyes searched Hermione's for a moment, and a look of understanding passed her face. "Ah, thank you, Hermione."

Hermione swallowed. She was expecting an explanation after she said that. For what, she wasn't sure. She had questions, _a lot_ of them.

Unfortunately, her social skills had depleted tremendously since she arrived at Shell Cottage, so she settled with, "Yeah, um, I've gotta go help Harry with... " She got lost in Fleur's eyes for a moment. Were they _shining_? "His… hair." His hair? Oh god. Maybe the universe would take pity on her and end her existence.

Fleur parted her lips slowly, her eyes dropped for a second but met with Hermione's quickly before speaking. "His hair?" she asked with a whisper.

 _Breathe_ , Hermione.

"Yes, it's...fucked up." _Perfect_. She's doing great.

Fleur seemed to hum in agreement as her eyes flickered down again. Time seemed to slow and Hermione was hyperaware of every movement Fleur made. She then became quite aware how _close_ they were.

A memory of her primary school teacher, Ms. Gladstone, teaching her class how to waltz, intruded her mind. ' _Leave room for Jesus!'_ She would say, while prying apart children.

 _God_ , she sure did love when childhood trauma came back to haunt her.

Hermione quickly recollected herself and stepped back. "Yes, well," she rubbed her hands on her jeans, "I should…" She gestured at the door and started walking backwards to it.

Broken out of her reverie, Fleur simply nodded and watched as Hermione bumped into three pieces of furniture on her way out.

Once clear of the study, Hermione muttered an unintelligible string of obscenities. Time to throw herself off the nearest cliff.

* * *

Harry looked up from his newspaper to see Hermione frowning at him while holding…. A pair of scissors.

He eyed the her warily. "Yes?"

Hermione let out a huff. "I have to cut your hair."

"You _have_ to?" he asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's fucked up"

A frown crossed Harry's features as he raised a hand to touch his hair. "Hasn't it always been?" he asked.

Hermione snorted. "Just, hold still, will you?"

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _Satchmode - Happiness_ _, Pt. 1_


	4. Everybody's Feelin' Warm and Right

\- - all i wanna do is *gunshot* *gunshot* *gunshot* *gunshot* *cash register noise* have an actual storyline for this god damn story. apparently my version of slow burn is having them never talk to each other lmao sorry.

Warning: This chapter contains alcohol consumption.

Chapter 4 - Everybody's Feelin' Warm and Right

* * *

"Never have I ever swam in the Black Lake."

 _Ugh_. Hermione wondered if Luna had avoided doing _anything_ in her life just so she could win this atrocious game. Why did she agree to play this?

Groans were heard around the circle as everyone (besides Luna) took a shot of the watered down version of Firewhiskey. Bill said Fleur would kill him if she found out he was giving them alcohol. Hermione wholeheartedly believed him.

They had been playing for a little over half an hour now. Bill had said something about seizing the day and they ended up on the floor of the living room. Music was playing on the gramophone (which sounded suspiciously muggle) and the Firewhiskey left a small burning sensation in Hermione's throat; she had to admit it wasn't the absolute _worst_.

Bill clapped his hands in excitement and rubbed them together. "Deanie boy! You're next!" he exclaimed. Buzzed Bill was very… flamboyant.

Dean roamed his eyes around the circle until they landed on Ron. "Never have I ever been a Keeper for Gryffindor's team." he said with a shit-eating grin. _Great_. Now they're getting specific.

Ron guffawed loudly and downed the shot before him. "You'll get what's comin' to you, Thomas!" he howled. Ron was as red as a tomato; could he die from being too red?

Laughter was coming from each point in the circle and Hermione suddenly had the urge to cry. She hasn't laughed this hard in _ages_. She looked to her left were Harry sat, clutching his stomach. Hell, _Harry hasn't laughed at all since forever_. The alcohol must be getting to her.

"Ok, ok," Bill said through chuckles. He squinted his eyes and tapped his mouth in mock consideration. "Hmm..," his eyes landed on Hermione and they widened with excitement. "Never have I ever kissed Viktor Krum."

Hermione threw her head back to face the ceiling while her face heated in embarrassment. How did he even _know_ that? " _Oh my god_ ," she groaned, "It's like everyone is _incapable_ of letting that go!"

From her right, Ron was the first to yell out "Shot!" and quickly the rest of the circle joined in with shouts of encouragement.

Hermione's hands raised in mock surrender as she leaned forward to retrieve her shot. She let out a quick breath and tilted the shot back into her mouth, shaking her head at the sensation of the liquor, and swallowed. ' _Diluted, my ass, Bill_.'

Cheers erupted the area as Ron clapped her on her back with a huge grin on his face and Hermione physically could not keep herself from smiling.

Ron seemed all too ready to go next. "Never have I ever snogged Ginny!" he shouted.

Hermione snorted as Harry leaned across her to shove Ron. "Mate, _I've_ kissed Ginny!" he complained with a red face.

"Sorry Harry, collateral damage and whatnot, ya know?" Ron said with an over exaggerated shrug. Hermione threw her head back with a laugh as Harry returned to his spot beside her, mumbling something about payback being a bitch.

As Harry and Dean took their shots, Hermione looked over to Luna, who looked quite pleased with her blood alcohol content being significantly less than the others'. Hermione _knew_ there was a million things she could get Luna with. It's just, her brain was completely fucked right now.

Hermione's eyes widened as she slapped her hands on her knees. "Never have I ever completed a divination class!" _Gotcha_.

Luna smiled knowingly at Hermione as she reached for her glass. Smugly, Hermione watched as everyone around the circle do the same.

Groans were heard from the two boys at her side as they reached their shots. " _Ugh_ , don't remind me," Harry said. Ron was shaking his head and she heard him whisper " _The worst_ " under his breath.

Hermione looked towards Harry as he ran his hands through his hair. He looked ready to pass out; hell, she _felt_ ready to pass out. His face broke out into a grin as he eyed Ron. "Never have I ever snogged Lavender Brown."

This game of Never Have I Ever was definitely turning into a game of If You Kissed Anyone Ever Prepare To Be Punished.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled as he reached for his glass.

Hermione's insides were screaming. She could tell them right? She was quite aware of the magical society's belief in sexual fluidity. It had apparently never been a problem, much to Hermione's dismay. Ron had explained this to Harry and herself when they were younger, and he asked if Muggles had something against love.

 _Probably_.

 _Fuck it_. Hermione swallowed thickly as she reached for her own glass of Firewhiskey.

After the two downed their drinks, Ron turned to look at her in complete and utter surprise. This wasn't helping her anxiety whatsoever. Hermione felt the room's eyes on her and she was sure so was going to catch on fire.

The (imagined) tension snapped as Ron's face morphed into excitement. "Good on you 'Mione!" he hollered, lightly punching her shoulder. She honestly didn't know what she expected.

The room fell into fits of laughter and Hermione shook her head, the corners of her mouth lifting. She glanced at Harry, and relief washed over her once more. He was laughing too.

Ron seemed to calm down and he gave her a look of amused curiosity. "Say, did she ever do that thing with her tong-"

"It was only once, Ronald!" she insisted, shoving him. Her face grew red at the memory. Lavender had called her a goody-two-shoed prude one night, and well, things escalated. Then she cried for an hour, thanks to her slight case of internalized homophobia.

"And yes, she did," Hermione admitted sheepishly.

Screw Veritaserum, Firewhiskey seemed to do just fine with cracking her open. It also succeeded in making her absolutely _trashed_. Hermione wondered how long it would take her to get to the kitchen sink. She caught Bill's eyes, and wondered why he was looking at her with such amusement.

Before anyone else could contemplate throwing up, the front door slammed shut and Bill dove for the Firewhiskey. " _Shit!_ " he muttered, scrambling to hide the bottle under a couch. No one else seemed to have any motor skills at the moment and could only watch the train wreck that was about to happen.

So much for Fleur not finding out.

"William?" Fleur called out, her voice nearing the living room. "Wh-" She stilled as her eyes roamed over the shot glasses and their owners faces. Hermione felt her stomach do somersaults. Was Fleur always this beautiful? _Shit_ , was she gonna throw up? Oh god, Fleur looked really mad.

Bill stood up quickly, staggering slightly, with his mouth hanging open in shock. "Fleur, you said you wouldn't be back until-"

"Can we talk privately, William?"

The room grew eerily quiet as Fleur stormed out, everyone's eyes watching her leave.

Bill pinched the bridge of her nose and scrunched up his face. " _Fuck_ ," he whispered. He turned to the occupants of the room.

"You guys should probably... head up," he nodded in the direction of their rooms.

Hermione watched wordlessly as everyone stumbled to get up.

"Scary, ain't she?" Ron whispered to her, as he reached down to help her.

Taking his hand, Hermione found herself unable to respond. She wasn't sure if it was due to the shock from how fast everything went to shit, or signs of alcohol poisoning.

As Ron walked with her, he chuckled and whispered, "Imagine if they _were_ married."

 _Wow_ , Ron was more drunk than she was. Hermione chose not to comment on his momentary lapse and instead informed him, "I'm gonna get some water." Ron nodded and ruffled her hair with a grin.

"Night, 'Mione."

Hermione slapped his hand away and tried to pat down her hair. "Goodnight, Ron." she said with a tender smile.

* * *

Nearing the kitchen, Hermione heard the slightly raised voices. In her mind somewhere, she slowly registered that Fleur and Bill were fighting.

She bit her lip as her heart thundered in her chest. She needed to leave, this was absolutely none of her business

"They needed to let loose, Fleur. You know that's the first time Harry's laughed since he got here?"

Hermione rested her head thoughtfully against the wall. He was right.

"What if something happened, Bill? You're the only one with a proper wand! And you were-"

Bill cut her off, "There's a Fidelius Charm! We were completely safe!"

A silence landed over them and Hermione wondered if she had been caught. Before a heart attack could take over her, she heard Fleur give a low sigh.

"You're right, je suis désolé."

 _Oh?_

"It's my mother, she's being extremely persistent." Fleur's voice seemed small.

 _God_. This was now _definitely_ none of her business. Hermione lifted her head and tried to stop the dizziness from taking over. She placed her hands on the wall to help herself from falling.

"Maybe she's right," she heard Bill say. _Time to go, Granger. Use your feet_.

"There's a _war_ going on, William," Fleur snapped. _Come on_. Hermione moved along the wall as silently as she could.

"All the more reason to!" Bill exclaimed. They were almost out of earshot by now.

"You have _no idea_ what it feels like." Hermione stilled as she heard the pain in Fleur's voice. "To _want_ something, with every fibre of your being. To have it within your reach, only for it to be _snatched_ away from you every time it comes close."

Hermione felt her eyes water and she leaned more of her weight onto the wall.

"It's different now." Bill said.

She wasn't sure if it was her alcohol addled brain or if this was _the vaguest_ conversation she has ever heard.

"Is it?"

Hermione had heard enough. Well really, she heard way too much. Guilt seemed to seep through her skin.

She crossed the distance between her and her room and shut the door quietly behind her. Hermione peaked at Luna to check if she was still asleep and rested her head against the door. She was sure she wouldn't be able to fix what Fleur was feeling (whatever _that_ was), but she could damn well try to be there for her.

 _Give what you take_.

Hermione pushed herself off the door, and realized something.

She forgot the fucking water.

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _King Harvest - Dancing in the Moonlight_

\- -tbh, although i can appreciate stories in media that have characters overcome a conservative/hostile environment when coming out, im kinda... tired of that trope lmao so i threw it away.


	5. We Crossed The Rio Grande

\- - i'm like super offended that my chapter title didn't fit lmao. this is gonna sound stupid but do you guys remember that episode of malcolm in the middle where they played Fernando while dewey and his golden girl babysitter danced? that's the most beautiful scene in all of cinema.

Warning: This chapter contains recreational marijuana use.

Chapter 5 - Do You Still Recall The Fateful Night We Crossed The Rio Grande?

* * *

She couldn't sleep.

The conversation between Fleur and Bill sobered her up entirely too quickly. Hermione could not stop thinking about it. Fleur's personal life had been just that — _personal_. And entirely none of her business.

That, and the pounding headache she was harboring, was enough to drive her mad.

After an hour of tossing and turning, Hermione sat up, and placed her bare feet on the cold hardwood floor. She could do this.

* * *

As quietly as she could, Hermione blindly shuffled her way into the kitchen. She had no idea where to start; where would two respectable wizards keep their aspirin—

' _Oh my god_.'

What the _fuck_ was she thinking. Wizards didn't keep aspirin. They kept _potions_ (which had tiny labels, which she could not possibly read at this moment in time, and which could _kill_ her).

Hermione let out a quiet huff and made her way to the living room. She dreaded the thought of bothering Fleur. What a perfect guest Hermione was, taking the hostess's room and waking her up in the middle of the night because of her own adolescent behavior with alcohol. No, she wasn't going to wake Fleur. Bill however, almost deserved to be woken up.

She neared the couches and saw Fleur (and no sight of Bill on the other couch).

 _Wow._

Fleur's mouth was somewhat parted as her chest rose and fell slowly in a rhythmic beat. One of her arms draped over the edge of the couch, almost touching the ground. Her blonde hair nearly covered part of her face, which was devoid of any hints of earlier stress. Sheer imperfection at its most perfect.

 _This must be what poets write about._

Hermione snapped out of her (slightly inappropriate) reverie, and took more notice on Bill's absence. Where the hell was he? This house wasn't by any means large, and every other room was occupied. Her headache seemed more apparent now. There was really only one place he could be.

* * *

She found Bill sitting outside in the sand, facing the sea as waves crashed quietly in the distance. His shoes were off, his hair was down, and in his hand he held something in between his fingers.

Nearing closer, Hermione could make out puffs of smoke coming from him. She didn't pin Bill as a midnight toker, although that could be because of her shit perception skills. She made her way to him, relishing in the malleability of the sand under her feet.

Reaching her destination, Hermione sat next to Bill and hugged her knees to her chest. He glanced at her sideways for a moment, and reverted his gaze back to the sea.

He wordlessly handed her the joint. Hermione panicked.

"Um. Uh, I— I've never—" she stuttered slowly.

Bill nodded. "You don't have to," he said sincerely, taking back his offer.

She didn't come here to get high, and there was now no way she was going to trust Bill in medicating her with potions.

 _However..._

It must have been some sort of small existential crisis, or her splitting headache, that made her shake her head. "I want to."

He turned to her to catch her eyes. "You sure?"

Hermione nodded and with two fingers he passed her the joint. She looked down at it, then back up at Bill for instructions. It was unnerving not knowing how to do something. Something as juvenille as smoking.

"Just inhale, you don't have to hold it in," he said.

Hermione nodded and brought the joint to her lips. She inhaled slowly, felt the smoke intrude her throat, and coughed. Tears formed her eyes as she tried to clear her throat.

Bill gave a low chuckle and Hermione turned to look at him. "It's normal," he informed.

She handed the joint back and they fell into a comfortable silence, taking hits in turns.

Bill spoke up after a few moments.

"When I was younger, dad used to smoke tobacco in his pipe, and he would enchant the smoke."

Hermione watched as Bill took another drag. Her face felt a little numb.

"How?" she asked.

Bill brought his wand to his lips and opened his mouth to release the smoke. It swirled in itself before taking on a proper shape.

A small bird came from the concentrated smoke and moved with such etherealness that Hermione thought only a patronus could muster. It was beautiful. The bird dissipated as soon as the smoke did, and Hermione looked back to Bill.

"Modified weather suspension spell." he said, still transfixed on the clearing smoke. He held out the joint and Hermione took it in unconcealed amazement.

Bill handed her his wand and she swallowed thickly; if she fucked up her mouth because she tried to do a smoke trick while high, she probably deserved it.

"The trick is actually enchanting your lips," he said with a smile. Bill was always one for entertaining.

Hermione inhaled from the joint and pressed the tip of Bill's wand to her mouth, reciting in her head the specific charm.

"Now think about what shape you want the smoke to form, it's simple really."

She closed her eyes while exhaling, and opened her eyes. An otter appeared from the smoke and playfully danced around the area. Hermione couldn't help the fit of giggles erupting from her mouth. God she was high. And it wasn't the _worst_.

"An otter?" Bill chimed in, not able to keep from laughing either.

"My patronus," she supplied. Bill nodded thoughtfully for a moment. They both watched as the smoke petered out.

' _I wonder what his patronus is.'_ Hermione thought. Was it rude to ask?

"I'm gay, Hermione."

Hermione slowly turned to Bill and squinted her eyes. "Your patronus is gay?" Fuck. That was like some next level shit.

Bill threw his head back with laughter. "No, no, no," he said between fits of chuckles. " _I'm_ gay."

Hermione's face turned into one of horror. Thoughts raced too fast for her mind to keep up.

"Who's gonna tell Fleur?!" she whisper-shouted.

Bill continued to laugh.

"She _knows_ , Hermione, so does my family." This didn't make any sense. _At all_. Was she having a bad trip? Can weed even _do_ that?

"Fleur needed access to the country, and with this shit war, the Ministry was being a lot less friendly to foreigners." Bill explained with a shrug.

Hermione opened her mouth in shock. "You guys got married for fucking _papers_?!" How could he be so nonchalant about this?

Bill nodded. "She's my best friend, Hermione. My ride or die bitch." he said with a laugh. "A temporary solution, I assure you!"

Hermione flopped back into the sand, not caring for her hair or clothes. Only the night sky and stars were in her view now. ' _What the actual fuck.'_

Bill waved his hand before her eyes.

"Look, ain't even wearing a ring!" he said. "As for the wedding, well, it had to be believable so we wouldn't get charged with marriage fraud. There are a lot of unfriendly eyes and ears out there."

 _Marriage fraud_. Oh god. "What could possibly be that important that she needed to be _here_?" Hermione asked.

Bill was quick to reply.

"If you haven't noticed, You-Know-Who isn't an isolated threat, wizards all over the world are here _illegally_ to fight — And I didn't want Fleur to be snatched up one day because her English accent is shit."

Hermione took some time to absorb the information. Bill was kind of talking too fast right now.

"There's a lot of factors in this Hermione, and I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner, we actually thought Ron had said something to you and Harry a long time ago."

Being told all this information while _stoned_ , was kind of difficult for Hermione. Her mind raced as she tried to think of any moment in time when Bill and Fleur's antics had been in any way _romantic_. The only time she had ever seen them kiss was at their wedding (which was a big fucking lie apparently) _and_ they were _never_ engaged. Was she fucking blind?

Bill stood and offered his hand to Hermione. She simply stared at him with an open mouth.

"Come on, Fleur would kill me if she found out I gave you weed."

Hermione took his hand and he tugged her up from her stupor, as well as her spot in the sand. _Ugh_. Smoking weed after drinking the amount of Firewhiskey she had, was the absolute worst idea ever.

She started wiping sand away from her clothes when she grumbled, "I might kill you first."

Bill laughed good-naturedly and as they neared the cottage door he spoke with clear amusement.

"If you ever want to a girl to kiss you again, you probably need to fix your gay radar." he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione gave an offended scoff and shoved him playfully. Bill couldn't stop laughing as he stumbled in the sand.

' _Ok, maybe he was a little right.'_

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _ABBA - Fernando_

\- - i'm sure everyone saw that coming and i promise you guys i'm not some sort of troubled youth with pockets lined with drugs. also i blatantly used the weather suspension spell from the magicians if anyone noticed.


	6. A Fool Could See

\- - this chapter was all written at like 3 in the morning.

Chapter 6 - A Fool Could See Just How Much I Adore You

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was sure she was _dying_.

Her headache had only grown with time, and she wondered if she could self induce a coma so she wouldn't have to experience it.

That wouldn't be a good idea anyway.

Desperately, Hermione's hand fumbled with the drawers of the night stand. Bill had handed her a potion for her headache last night, and with the stupidity only a person high on weed could muster, she had altogether skipped the step of actually drinking it and deposited the potion in the nightstand.

She groaned as her hand blindly brushed aside things that definitely weren't small glass vials. Where the fuck was it? This wasn't some sort of magic nightstand was it? Hermione briefly wondered if the nightstand had vanished the potion for the hell of it. Magical furniture usually had knacks for being _absolute dicks_.

Hermione stilled as her hand soon came into contact with the smooth wood of a wand. She forgot it was in there. Staring up at the ceiling with her hand jammed into a drawer, she pondered the consequences of just snapping it here and now. There were a lot.

She gripped the wand and pulled it into her sight. Immediately her heart pounded faster and her chest felt a little tighter.

Okay so maybe the whole facing your demons thing wasn't a good idea right now.

Before Hermione could go down _that_ road, there was a soft knock on the door, followed by a silvery voice.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

 _No_. "Yes."

The door opened slowly to show Fleur, with clothes folded above her arm, looking concerned as ever. "What are yo-" Fleur's eyes landed on the wand in Hermione's hands, and the look on her face became steely.

In a blur, Fleur discarded the clothes on top of the bed and snatched the wand from her fingers. Hermione could only watch in shock with her mouth hanging open.

"I can not believe you _kept_ _this_ ," Fleur hissed out. Hermione's brows furrowed. It's not like she kept it as a souvenir.

Fleur held the wand in her hands, looking up at Hermione for an explanation, with her jaw tight in (misplaced) anger.

Hermione opened her mouth. "Uh…" What the hell was she supposed to say? That she needed it for a _secret plan_ that was really _secret_ and she couldn't say more because everything was fucking _secret_?

Fleur squinted her eyes and looked down at the wand in her hands in disgust. She scoffed heavily and held it in a way that someone would snap a stick.

 _Oh shit_. Hermione's eyes widened in realization and she shouted. "No! You can't!"

Fleur snapped her eyes back to Hermione in disbelief as her grip tightened on the wand. "It's _evil_ , Hermione," she ground out. "How could you— after what _happened—_ "

Harry bounded in, looking confusedly at both girls. "What the hell?" he asked.

Fleur paid no attention to his interruption and instead kept her eyes locked onto Hermione. Hermione, however, looked at Harry in panic and directed him with pointed eyes to Bellatrix's wand.

Harry's eyes followed hers and his face morphed into alarm. "Woah! Fleur, we kind of _need_ that…" he reached out but Fleur yanked her hands further away. She looked back and forth from Harry and Hermione in incredulity.

"How could you possibly…" Fleur started, her voice laced with revulsion. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

The room was quiet for a moment before Fleur shoved the wand in Harry's hands with a huff and stormed out.

Harry looked down at the wand in shock, his mouth opening and closing a few times. "I'll— uh— keep this… I guess," he said while pocketing it.

Hermione could only nod.

Harry cleared his throat. "Bill's uh… having a coming out breakfast? He says that we all have horrible intuition and his marriage to Fleur is a sham."

She couldn't help but snort at that. "Yeah… he told me last night." she said offhandedly. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Now help me find this god damned potion." Hermione huffed. She wasn't going down without a fight.

* * *

After breakfast (which was more of a Q&A hosted by Bill and Fleur) Harry, Ron, and herself, gathered out back to talk.

As they sat in the sand, Hermione turned to Ron. "Why didn't you say anything?" she asked. Ron never really kept things from them.

He shrugged and looked down at the sand. "You guys— I wasn't really sure how you guys would react. I hear how muggles are sometimes about this kind of stuff and I…" he trailed off.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little offended. She bit back the retort that was on her tongue. She could understand a little of where he was coming from, they had only talked about this subject once when they were younger, and Harry and her weren't exactly marching Pride Parades.

"I'm sorry, Ron. We should've— Just know you can tell us anything. Right 'Mione?" Harry said.

Hermione smiled as Ron timidly looked at both of them. "Yeah."

Ron's face broke out into a grin and he tackled both Harry and Hermione into a hug in the sand.

"Oh _god_ ," Harry choked out. Hermione couldn't help the boisterous laughter coming from her mouth, or the carefree tears.

* * *

Fleur cornered her in the living room. Hermione wondered why Fleur only _sometimes_ smelled good. Well, she was sure Fleur _always_ smelled good. Just not the kind of ' _good'_ she smelled before.

"I need to change your bandages."

Her neutral tone surprised Hermione, she was sure they had fought just an hour ago. She had expected at least a few more hours of a little aversion. Hermione wordlessly nodded and sat on a couch.

As Fleur gathered what looked like a medical bag together, she spoke with a hint of unsureness. "I'm sorry, about earlier. I did not mean to—" she paused for a moment. "I scared you."

That was one way to put it.

Hermione swallowed and shook her head as she held her arm out for Fleur to work on. "No, you were right," she admitted. "I wanted to snap it too." she said softly.

Fleur looked up at Hermione and nodded, her gaze returning to Hermione's arm as she pulled off the bandage. The red, angry, childish scrawl glared back up at her. Was today some sort of psychological test the universe gave her? If so, it was kind of fucked up.

Hermione looked at Fleur. Her jaw was tight and her nostrils were flared slightly. With the pads of her fingers, Fleur lightly stroked around the marred skin and Hermione let out a breathy exhale. She had the worst timing when gawking at Fleur.

Blinking a few times, Fleur tore her gaze away and focused on dabbing a bit of potion on a clean cloth. She turned back to Hermione. "This might sting," she said.

Hermione nodded, breathing in heavily. As the cloth made contact with her skin, she flinched and let out a barely there whimper. Yeah, that _stung_.

Fleur looked apologetic at least. "The blade was cursed. I couldn't heal its cuts with magic," she shook her head. "I asked my mother for anything that would help, and she gave me these." Fleur nodded towards what looked like an apothecary bag. "Some cultural ointments and potions." she explained.

"Cultural?" Hermione inquired.

"Veela."

 _Oh._

Hermione was quick to change the subject when her arm was being finished wrapped. "How is your mother?" she questioned. Memories of the other night came to surface and she wondered if she shouldn't have asked that.

"She's… a stubborn woman sometimes," Fleur supplied with a sigh. Hermione took it as a cue to to end that line of questioning. She remembers bits and pieces of Fleur's mother — A glance of her before the Third Task in her fourth year, and a _pleasant_ introduction at the wedding.

* * *

"You must be Hermione!" the Delacour woman pulled her in a tight hug and quickly kissed both of her cheeks. She held Hermione out at arm's length, looking her up and down with a smile.

"Uh-um, yes. And you must be Madame Delacour." Hermione replied, a little flabbergasted at being slightly manhandled. How many glasses of champagne has this woman had?

She waved her hands around and shook her head. "Non! You must call me Apolline!" she insisted. Yeah, this woman needed to be cut off.

"Fleur looks beautiful tonight, wouldn't you agree?"

Hermione's eyes scanned the room and landed on Fleur. "Yeah," she said, a little entranced. She turned back to Apolline, who looked all too pleased at the moment.

"Well!" Apolline all but slapped her hands on Hermione's shoulders. "May we meet again Hermione!" she said cheerily, pulling her in again for a hug once more, and took off to talk to another guest.

Hermione could only stand there a little dazed at the encounter. What the hell was that? Ron came up behind her and gave a quick laugh.

"I'll have what she's having!" he joked.

* * *

Fleur moved her body closer to Hermione and gently reached for her neck; Hermione took a sharp breath as she neared. _What was she doing?_

As Fleur peeled the bandage off her neck, Hermione could feel her face heating up. Of course, what else would she be doing? She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar sting on her neck as Fleur pressed the cloth on her skin.

"Fleur?"

"Hmm?"

"How come you smell like… really good sometimes?" Hermione asked. "Not that you _don't_ smell good now, it's just that sometimes it's like, _really_ good." she quickly added. She looked towards Fleur to gauge her reaction.

Fleur looked contemplative for a moment before answering. "Veela pheromones." she said plainly, covering Hermione's neck with a fresh bandage. _Progress._

"How come Harry and Ron can't smell it?"

Their eyes locked for a moment and Fleur slowly opened her mouth to speak. She quickly looked down before continuing. "You seem to be… more _susceptible_."

Hermione could tell it was a bullshit answer.

Before she could interrogate her further, a loud bang sounded from the front door.

Fleur stood quickly and brandished her wand as Bill came from the kitchen. "Who is it?" Bill called. Hermione's heartbeat quickened. Irrational fear took over her — what if Death Eaters found them? Before she could bolt from the couch to god knows where, Fleur placed her hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Stay here," she whispered, following closely behind Bill to the door. Hermione turned her body to face their direction whilst being shielded by the couch.

"It is I, Remus John Lupin!"

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and the voices drowned out quickly as she calmed herself. She watched as Harry bounded in, looking alert as ever, while other occupants of the house filtered in.

Tonks had the baby.

Their celebration lasted a good hour or so, Bill had busted out some fancy wine he said he was saving for a victory. Hermione was glad his definition of victory was loose, otherwise she wasn't quite sure if he would _ever_ open it.

After Lupin left, Hermione was sitting closely with Fleur in the kitchen with the other residents. The wine left everyone in a pleasant buzz while they shared anecdotes to keep the mood alive. Every now and again, Fleur's arm would brush ever so slightly against her own, and she would lean in impossibly closer.

"William!" Fleur admonished after hearing the end of Bill's story. Hermione wasn't really paying attention but she was sure she heard the words 'shaman' and 'Filet-O-Fish from McDonald's'.

After a few moments of laughter, the table settled back into comfortable conversation. Fleur tilted her head slightly towards Hermione and roamed her eyes over her face. She leaned in close and brought her hand to Hermione's face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Hermione could only watch with eyes half closed as Fleur parted her lips.

Fleur abruptly pulled back, as if remembering something. "Sorry," she whispered.

Hermione furrowed her brows. Sorry for what? The gears in her head slowly started moving together.

Was Fleur about to kiss her?

No. That's not what was happening. Fleur was just being friendly. Hermione shook her head lightly and quickly turned her attention to the conversation at the table, stealing glances every few minutes at Fleur.

* * *

"Pathetic."

Hermione's eyes widened as she turned in the direction of the insult, finding Griphook in the doorway of the kitchen. Bill, Fleur, and her, were the only occupants at this time (everyone else retired to their rooms), and she was really sure Griphook was facing Fleur.

Fleur's jaw was pronounced and the kitchen grew quiet as Bill and Hermione stared in shock.

He turned and walked nonchalantly in the direction of Bill's room when Fleur stopped him.

" _Excuse me?"_

Griphook turned and squinted his eyes at her. "I think you know exactly what I mean, _Veela_."

Hermione frowned and was about to cut in when Griphook continued. "You can't even take what is _yours_." Hermione blinked a few times. Why the fuck was everyone so fucking vague in this house?

Bill stood quickly and unkindly shooed Griphook off to his room while Hermione looked back at Fleur — who was currently looking very upset at the kitchen counter.

"Fleur…" Hermione started. She wasn't really sure what to say. Being left in the dark left her at a disadvantage in the comfort department.

"I don't want your pity, Hermione." she snapped. Hermione recoiled in shock. What the hell?

"I wasn't offering any!" Hermione countered, huffing as she stood to walk out. Footsteps sounded behind her and she felt fingers grip her wrist. She spinned around to see Fleur looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry." she said sincerely. "It's just—" Fleur shook her head, biting her lip. Hermione waited patiently for an explanation. Fleur dropped Hermione's wrist and brought the heels of her hands to rub at her eyes. "Griphook is a _dick_ ," she explained bitterly, dropping her hands.

Hermione grabbed one of Fleur's wrists and pulled her in tightly for a hug. "Yeah, I know," she mumbled into her neck. Fleur's arms wrapped around her securely and Hermione couldn't help but feel the hot spike under her stomach when Fleur's lips moved against her skin when she spoke.

"Thank you, Hermione."

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _Divinyls - I Touch Myself_ (but like, the BØRNS cover)


	7. Might As Well Fall In

\- - uhhhhhh college takes up all your time don't do it. i'm sorry this is like 4 years late. there's probably a million mistakes but it's that time in my life where i don't care, so.

Chapter 7 - Might As Well Fall In

* * *

Things started to get _weird_. In all honesty, Hermione was surprised it didn't get weird sooner (being trapped in an isolated house for month usually did that to people).

Not only was Hermione sure she had some lame ass crush on Fleur, but the whole 'plotting in secret to rob a bank with Griphook' thing was really starting to get obvious. She was sure they looked like they were making a new E.T. movie. Except E.T. was being played by a four foot asshole. And the Reese's Pieces were replaced by an elusive magical sword.

Which wasn't even theirs to offer in the first place, but Harry didn't seem to give any fucks.

Bill was the first to notice — Griphook wasn't really subtle in his lurking. He gave Harry a ten minute lecture about working, and making deals, with Goblins. Which, according to Bill, was worse than having straight sex. (When Harry recounted this detail later to Hermione and Ron, Hermione choked on her spit and almost died on the study floor).

The others were not so inclined to get involved, but Fleur had made it clear she didn't approve of any kind of scheming under her roof. Hermione assumed Bill had told her what he knew.

"I would much prefer it if you three ate with us tonight."

Fleur was seemingly trying to delay and interrupt their meetings whenever possible.

The other night the trio had chosen to eat separately from the household, talking of dead ends and far off traces of answers for impossible questions instead. Harry was getting restless, they weren't accomplishing much here, and Hermione knew their time at Shell Cottage was limited.

Hermione, not in the mood to reply to Fleur, stared down and ran her fingers along the small grooves of the wooden table where she sat.

"Yeah, uh — sure." Harry replied, nodding at Fleur, a little taken aback at her forwardness.

Hermione looked up to see Fleur looking at her, as if she was waiting for her to say something. When it became clear Hermione wasn't going to say or do _anything_ , Fleur turned and left for the door. The room grew quiet after she exited (no one really wanted to continue their earlier conversation) which left Hermione in her thoughts.

Hermione's past moments with Fleur took a turn. Their intelligent conversations too quickly evolved into Hermione stealing glimpses at Fleur's lips. And to make matters worse, the woman decided that playing with Hermione's hair was a totally great platonic thing to do. The list was too long to go on.

Once Hermione realized her small (large) attraction for Fleur, she avoided her like the plague. It must have been some some sort of misplaced desire or transference, and she would rather not project her delusions onto Fleur.

It made sense really, doctor-patient infatuation was common among situations like hers. Fleur had been her caregiver of sorts, and Hermione had grown a small dependency on her. Perfectly normal.

 _Not really_.

Fleur had eventually noticed Hermione's evasion of her, and pulled back her friendly and caring attitude. Now, Hermione was met with cool casualness and nonchalance — which sucked, because she really liked Fleur, attraction or not. The immaturity of it all was really not good for her health.

So much for being there for Fleur.

"Are you okay with that?"

Hermione, broken out of her musings, looked at Harry in confusion. "What?" she asked.

Ron let out a huff of air and answered for Harry, although a little timidly. "We only have enough for one, and… it's gotta be her."

Hermione shook her head, how long did she go without paying attention?

"The Polyjuice — we've got a strand of her hair, and Griphook said the identification would work because we have her wand." Harry finished.

 _Oh_.

Suddenly, the room felt a little smaller and her stomach felt a little knotted. Her father used to say fear was a good thing, that fear told them they were human. Hermione didn't feel human at all at the moment, more like a pile of thoughts and nightmares. Either way, fear itself wasn't going to win the war.

"I can do it."

* * *

In a moment alone, Hermione curiously looked through the titles on the bookshelf in her (Fleur's) room. Just like before, most were in French, making her efforts of reading something actually interesting unavailing; and she wasn't venturing to Bill's room either, in fear of having to be in the same room as Griphook.

The books she found in English were actually great examples of classical Muggle literature, but Hermione really wasn't in the mood to reread any tragic love tales or tragic adventures of foolish men. Was everything a tragedy?

Her fingers came across a worn leather spine with intricate golden engravings and she pulled it off the shelf with interest. The cover was littered with artistic impressions and the book's pages were gilded in gold along the edges. _Fancy_.

Deep in her mind she recognized the familiarity of this moment. Had she picked up a book similar to this in the Hogwarts library? Unlikely, seeing how she would have remembered its sheer appeal.

Upon opening it, Hermione immediately recognized the usage of the word 'Veela', swimming with other words in French.

Sucking in a breath, she wondered if she should even be poking around this bookshelf. Why did this feel like some sort of invasion of privacy? Hermione bit her lip. _Curiosity killed the cat_.

It's not like she would be able to understand any of it, right? Just harmless skimming. It was probably just a story book, nothing personal. With a surge of confidence, she flipped through the pages. _But satisfaction brought it back_.

Hand drawn pictures accompanied French words in what seemed to be a comprehensive text of Veela culture. Amazingly illustrated plants and other ingredients filled the section she was currently looking over. It was utterly beautiful, and Hermione desperately wished she could read French, because there was _no way_ she was going to ask Fleur to translate.

Hermione stopped as she neared the back of the book. _Was that…?_

Her face reddened and she quickly snapped the book shut. With slightly trembling hands, she put the book back in its previous place.

Good to know that Veelas include their very own version of a Kama Sutra in their handy dandy handbook.

Hermione, now slightly uncomfortable and trying to block out the past five minutes, decided to head down to the kitchen where she was sure she would find the boys.

* * *

She didn't find the boys. Or the kitchen.

Instead, Bill found her.

Bill had dragged her off into the living area and Hermione wondered if he was always this spontaneous or if the past few weeks had been just circumstance.

"Would it kill you to talk to Fleur?"

"Would it kill you to mind your business?" Hermione asked, yanking her arm out of Bill's grasp.

"Yes!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. "What are you even talking about?" she asked, not really wanting to divulge her problems to Bill. All of her conversations with him were like roller coasters. And she hated roller coasters. Mostly because some kid threw up on her on one but that was really beside the point.

Bill scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. "You two have been _impossible_ the past two days, I swear Griphook and I have a better relationship than you two." he said, shaking his head.

Hermione made a slightly disgusted face, which Bill picked up on. "Not like that, Hermione! What the hell!"

Throwing her hands on her face, Hermione shook her head and groaned in exasperation. "You wouldn't understand." she mumbled through her hands.

"Try me."

Why the _hell_ would she tell him any of this? It's not like Gay Judas over here would keep his mouth shut to Fleur.

She pulled her hands away from her face and looked up to Bill, who had an expression of genuine concern. _Ugh_. Hermione didn't think this was really the most appropriate time to have emotional journeys.

Flopping on the nearest couch face first into a cushion, Hermione mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Bill asked, setting himself on the arm of the couch.

Hermione's heart was beating so hard she was sure it was going to explode. She moved her head slightly to the side so her mouth was no longer covered. She had to tell _someone_ , but telling Bill Weasley seemed to be the worst option. Or the best. She couldn't really think at the moment.

"I kind of — Uh," Hermione swallowed, not sure if she could admit it. "... _like_ Fleur." God, she probably sounded like a prepubescent girl in primary school.

She nervously turned her body to look at Bill, who was nodding thoughtfully at her admission. "Like or like-like?" he asked seriously.

Hermione gave an offended scoff and fruitlessly tried to shove him from her position. "You know what I mean!" she admonished.

"I do, I do." Bill said, chuckling lightly, with his hands up in surrender. Collecting himself, he continued, "Now all you have to do is tell her!"

Hermione whipped around so fast she was sure she broke her neck. "Are you _insane_?"

"It's not that hard."

"No! I'm not doing that!"

Bill threw his head back in exasperation. "Alright. Well, do you want me to —"

"Absolutely not!" Hermione screeched. Was Bill trying to _end her existence_?

"So what, you're just gonna pretend like nothing— ?"

"I'm perfectly fine with that!" Hermione interrupted. She quickly got up from her place on the couch and made a beeline for her room.

She shouldn't have told him anything.

* * *

There was a knock on her door.

Bill.

Hermione groaned and slid off the bed. If he was her gay spirit guide, she would have to file a complaint to whoever assigned him to her. _Hi, yes. I would like to return my gay spirit guide_.

Opening the door, a witty retort to whatever he had to say was already on her tongue. "Do you ever stop—" she quickly stopped herself when she saw who was actually at her door.

That was not Bill. That was most definitely Fleur.

Without thinking, Hermione slammed the door shut.

 _Fucking fuck_. Did she just slam the door in Fleur's face? _Shit_. Now in panic mode, Hermione reached for the door handle with shaking hands and pulled the door open.

"I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking! I thought you were Bill and I didn't really want to talk to him at the moment and I just —"

Fleur silenced Hermione by placing a hand on her forearm. "It's okay." She assured with a hint of amusement.

Hermione grew paranoid in the span of a second. Did Bill tell her? It'd only been an hour. Is his resolve really that shit?

 _Gay Judas_.

Noticing Hermione's unease, Fleur frowned, removing her hand from her arm and clearing her throat. "Dinner will be ready soon. Dean cooked steak." she said plainly, smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothing with her hands. They both sat still for a moment.

Hermione couldn't respond. The only thing on her mind was that ' _Bill told her, Bill told her, Bill told her_.' Her heart was beating out of her chest and her hands were trembling. To make matters worse, Fleur's Veela pheromones decided to show up to the party. Subconsciously, she licked her lips and let out a shaky breath.

"You…" Hermione started. How many do-overs does she get?

Fleur's eyes flicked up to hers and Hermione felt a little lightheaded. She could do this.

"I'm sorry." she started again. "I've been treating you badly these past couple of days."

Fleur said nothing, only looking curiously back at her with furrowed brows. Hermione wasn't sure if she should even continue.

 _Fuck it._

"Bill told you didn't he?" Hermione didn't wait for a response. "I'm sorry, it's childish really, just… a _stupid_ crush, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable." she finished, hoping she didn't just breach some sort of friendship rule.

Fleur closed her eyes and shook her head in confusion. "What are you talking about? William hasn't said anything."

 _Oh, ok. Guess I'll die then._

There was no escape. Fleur was blocking the door, and Hermione wasn't sure if she would break something if she tried the window. Maybe she could self induce a coma if she thought hard enough about it.

"Hermione."

She brought her attention back to Fleur, who looked as serious as ever. Hermione probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and Fleur was probably about ready to run her over.

Fleur swallowed and slowly stepped closer to her. "You like me?" she asked quietly, her eyes searching Hermione's. When did they start using the vocabulary of twelve year old girls?

Okay so now they both looked like deer in the headlights. At least they were on the same page, or at least two different sides of the same page.

"Yes." Hermione admitted. She was sure she just lost a major internal organ. Coma time.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Fleur stepped even closer, resting her hand against Hermione's cheek. Hermione noticed it was slightly trembling, and she smelled Fleur's pheromones more fully. Oh _fuck_.

"Can I kiss you?" Fleur asked through a whisper. Neither one of them dared to look away.

"Yes." _Oh my god_.

Hermione had to tilt her head up slightly to accommodate Fleur's height. They both stopped centimeters away from each other, breathing in short gasps. Impatiently, Hermione placed her hands on either side of Fleur's face, closed her eyes, and pulled Fleur down to her lips.

 _Oh._

Her lips were incredibly soft. Her face was incredibly soft. Everything about Fleur seemed incredibly soft.

Their kiss was chaste and innocent, until it wasn't.

Fleur messily took in a quivering breath on top of Hermione's lips and deepened the kiss, grasping at Hermione's sides with an almost frightening desperation.

Stumbling slightly backwards at Fleur's (now apparent) passion, Hermione made a noise of surprise when the back of her knees hit the edge of her (Fleur's) bed. _Holy shit_.

Both of them drew back, taking in short shuddering breaths with lidded eyes. Fleur leaned in eagerly to once again kiss Hermione, to which she didn't protest. The sharp prick of arousal below her stomach was now evident.

Hermione let out a small moan and that's when everything stopped.

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _James Blake - The Wilhelm Scream_

\- - cliffhanger? not really it was just starting to get too long.


	8. In The Comfort Of Your Bed Sheets

\- - This chapter is tragic! Just like Fleur.

Chapter 8 - In The Comfort Of Your Bed Sheets

* * *

Fleur pulled back, looking extremely apologetic. "I did not mean to be so— I'm sorry." she said a little breathlessly. (Liar.)

Her mother had warned her about this. Brushing aside her desire was somewhat unhealthy and potentially dangerous to whatever relationship she cultivated with Hermione. She had practically _attacked_ her.

"It's okay."

Fleur slowly lifted her gaze to meet Hermione's. She looked just as unsure as her voice sounded. They both stood still for a second, afraid to break any kind of lull in their situation. That, and Fleur had no idea what to say.

However, Hermione was pulled out of the trance all too soon. Her brows furrowed and she tilted her head slightly in question. "Your _eyes_..."

Fleur quickly diverted her line of vision, blinking quickly in succession. She was not ashamed of her heritage, but she wasn't at all comfortable in disclosing all the things it entailed to Hermione. It was much too soon. (It was much delayed.)

Maybe she could start there.

"Sometimes they become more," Fleur began, not confident in her own words. " _Saturated_ in color during more... _intense_ moments."

' _I wish to continue to have these intense moments.'_

"Because you're Veela, right?" Hermione asked timidly. She was now sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of the sheets. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Fleur remembered a dream (multiple dreams) she had, with Hermione in a similar position, although the conversation they had (didn't have) was entirely different. _Focus_.

Fleur nodded and wrung her hands together in anxiety. "Do you know what that means?" she inquired, selfishly wanting Hermione to say no.

Hermione took in a slow breath and shook her head. Fleur's shoulders relaxed. _Coward_.

It was wrong of her, to keep Hermione in the dark, she knew this. But it was honestly the only thing that was keeping Fleur from feeling like her next step forward with Hermione would be her last. The fear of rejection was just too much.

Griphook was right. She _was_ pathetic.

"Hogwarts curriculum never…" Hermione started, interrupting Fleur's thoughts. "The books in the library were hardly in depth and I..." she trailed off, looking at Fleur almost pleadingly to say something. Fleur could tell she was talking just to fill space.

She once again didn't know what to say. 'Be with me.' was too much forward, and slightly off topic. Other declarations of affection were on her mind. None of them appropriate for the conversation.

Fleur had been waiting (dreaming) for this moment, yet here she was now, all previous ideas from her fantasies thrown out the window. She had imagined herself sweeping Hermione off her feet, that she would be _so_ charming and alluring that things would just fall into place. Fleur never imagined or planned for things to happen the way they did. The war. Her marriage to William.

 _Foolish thinking_.

(Once, she imagined _herself_ as Hermione's paramour during the Triwizard Tournament, instead of Viktor. Once was enough though — she did not want to relive what was most definitely the worst school year of her life.)

"I haven't been truthful with my intentions, Hermione." Fleur admitted. She tentatively sat beside Hermione on the bed, keeping her eyes lowered to the ground. If it was any other time, she would relish in their closeness, but at the moment she felt as if she were a bomb about to go off. Fleur didn't want to hurt Hermione with her shrapnel.

Hermione turned her head slightly to her, quietly urging her to continue. Fleur didn't dare to look her in the eyes.

"It is a curse until it is a gift." Fleur began, nervously wringing her hands in her lap. "Veela are born with the ability to _see_ ," she said, taking an uneven breath. "To see what our souls desire the most."

One look at Hermione through her peripheral vision and Fleur knew she was being too vague. Hermione's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion and her eyes searched the space that Fleur occupied. Dread seeped within her. This was the point of no return, words could not be taken back.

" _You_ are what my soul desires the most."

If she wasn't too busy about to have a breakdown she would have prided herself on how romantic that sounded.

"I don't — what does that even _mean_?" Hermione stuttered quickly. Fleur could hear the shakiness in her voice. ' _Please don't be afraid of me._ ' She pushed back the regret that was clouding in her mind and continued on, quickly recounting her childhood when she had similar questions.

"The Ancient Greeks believed that people originally had four arms and four legs, with two faces on their head. In his affinity for destroying things, Zeus tore them apart, leaving them with halves of their bodies and souls." Fleur paused and looked up to meet Hermione's gaze. Seeing her confusion, Fleur straightened her back and continued.

"Veela believe something similar. That, although adapted to be whole themselves, our souls still seek their other halves."

The words seemed to roll off her tongue. She had been raised with this belief ingrained in her very being, it was the most at ease she had been throughout this conversation.

"And I'm yours?" Hermione asked in a small voice, her eyes searching Fleur's face.

Her question sent shivers down Fleur's spine. She closed her eyes and answered. " _Yes_." It came out oddly, as if she were out of breath.

Fleur felt Hermione's hand cover her own. They were closer now, shoulders touching as Hermione leaned closer. Although she no longer felt like a bomb, she still had the feeling she was going to explode.

"And you're mine." Hermione barely whispered. It was somehow altogether a question and a statement. Her word choice made Fleur shudder a little, words should not be able to make her feel this way. She could feel her body moving closer.

" _Yes_." she murmured, lips dangerously close to Hermione's.

Their lips only brushed before there was a loud knock on the door.

"If you guys are done shagging, dinner's ready!"

They both pulled back quickly, as if burned. Fleur was going to _murder_ Bill. Setting aside her irritation, she searched Hermione's eyes for a moment (for any hints of regret) before Hermione spoke up.

"We should go." she said, sharing a tentative smile. Fleur could tell Hermione was trying to hold back questions, for why, she did not know. Fleur only nodded in response. ' _No, let us stay here_.' she wanted to plead, but Hermione had already stood from her place on the bed.

Fleur sat still for a moment, looking at her hands. Everything was okay. She no longer had to pretend, at least around Hermione. They had time, they could work all this out. She had an overwhelming urge to share this news with her mother.

* * *

Hermione could not linger. And she could not show Fleur the look of dread on her face. She couldn't help but feel that she had led Fleur on to believe she could stay. She was leaving. _Soon_. Harry had explicitly stated that what they were doing had to be kept secret, and Hermione was nothing but loyal, even with what Fleur revealed to her only minutes ago.

How poetic it seemed, to find something like this only to be whisked away a moment later. Granted, she was still processing what 'this' was, and what the hell it exactly meant.

If they were really — whatever Fleur said they were, how could Hermione do something like this? The words 'Greater Good' rang out in her mind. Sacrifices must be made. Somewhere it the back of her mind it felt like running. Fleur had asked her something she wasn't willing to give. Not anytime soon.

Without looking back, Hermione opened the door, sure that if she left now this was the last time they would be alone together.

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _Milk & Bone - Pressure_

\- - if you couldn't tell i tried to change the tone. i think the only difference is less cussing and no lame jokes.


	9. I'm Not Living, I'm Just Killing Time

\- - This is an interlude rather than a chapter because I love procrastinating.

Chapter 9 - I'm Not Living, I'm Just Killing Time (Interlude)

* * *

"Don't forget the wand."

" _Jesus Christ_ —" Hermione hissed, clutching at her chest and spinning around. It was _three in the morning_. Why the _hell_ was Luna up?

"I'm sorry that you have to leave, Hermione." Luna said. "I did enjoy our time together."

Hermione, still trying to calm her heart, plopped down on the bed in exhaustion — which was littered by (what was left of) her belongings. She appreciated Luna's sentiment, it would have seemed superficial coming from anyone else.

"Sorry if I woke you." Hermione mumbled in apology while rubbing at her eyes.

She had thought their leaving would be smooth and seamless. It was one of the times that she had actually agreed with Griphook on anything. Leaving at such an early hour would leave little room for interference. Of course Luna would be the outlier in their plan.

Luna shook her head. "I don't mind."

Hermione didn't feel the need to respond, conversations at this hour never warranted such formalities.

They sat in silence for a moment before Luna spoke again. "Do you mind it much?"

Hermione, far too close to experiencing mild dissociation, looked at her in confusion. "Do I mind what?"

"What happens, with you three."

It was an extremely simplistic way to put it, but Hermione was glad she did. Specifics would only drown her.

"I don't mind it anymore." Hermione said casually, casting her eyes toward the ground. Years of responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Luna tilted her head to the side. "But shouldn't you?" she asked sincerely.

Hermione looked back up at Luna and let out a humorless laugh.

"Oh I do, I just say I don't." _It's easier that way._

Luna only nodded at her admission and Hermione felt silly for laughing.

"I do hope you find what you're looking for, Hermione." she said, retreating back to her bed. The silence grew quickly and in that moment Hermione truly felt the arbitrariness of the past few moments. Maybe even the past few weeks.

She sat on the edge of her own bed for awhile longer, delaying (only for a minute) her departure from Fleur's room. It was much too dark to fully appreciate, and she no longer felt the warmth she had always felt staying in there.

Hermione almost resented Fleur, for saying those things, right when she was to leave. It wasn't her fault though, really. She couldn't help but feel that Fleur had got the short end of the stick. Fleur didn't deserve this. It was probably better not to think about it.

Gathering her things, she left the room without a second glance.

* * *

Griphook was talking to Harry a few paces out while she reconstructed Ron's face.

"Don't make me too ugly, 'Mione."

A quick exhale left her nose in place of a laugh. "I won't."

Hermione felt her concentration slipping as the night wind blew both their hair in their faces. She shifted her footing in the sand.

"Do you ever think about what comes after all this?" Ron asked while Hermione shaped an unattractive beard.

 _Not anymore_. "Sometimes."

"It's all I think about."

Hermione took in his words. It was comforting to hear someone say it. That they believed there was something more than this.

The wind must have chilled, because she shivered slightly and closed her eyes. The sound of the nearby sea was drowned out by her own thoughts.

"I don't want to die." she admitted. Her voice was almost too soft for him to hear.

Ron pulled her in by her shoulders and she buried her face into his chest, shielding her watering eyes from Harry and Griphook.

"Me neither."

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _Radiohead - True Love Waits_ (if you're listening, the studio version that was released in 2016 fits this chapter more)

\- - So are you guys sad yet? Also! I used some of the dialogue from the "We're All In Our Private Traps" scene from Psycho when Hermione is talking with Luna.


	10. Dreams I've Denied For All These Years

\- - sorry i died and didn't update. i'm at the stage where i hate everything i write. i can no longer differentiate terrible grammar from an intelligible sentence.

Chapter 10 - Dreams I've Denied For All These Years

* * *

Fleur couldn't get comfortable. She checked the clock. Hours. It had been hours that she tossed and turned, trying to find a position on the couch that wouldn't add to the dull ache in her body. Maybe she slept in an odd position last night. Or maybe it was just this fucking couch. (Bill insisted on secondhand furniture, a habit she knew that came from his upbringing).

Fleur frowned. Maybe it was — she shook her head. No, it was best not to think about it.

Flipping onto her stomach she continued to read her book, unfolding the dog-eared page. Bill had suggested that she read muggle literature a little while ago. She knew why, of course, but it never struck her as something terribly important.

Living at Shell Cottage gave her time to do the not-so-terribly-important things. In fact, nothing she did here was terribly important. This wasn't exactly her idea of participating in a resistance — being sidelined because of someone else's idea of 'strategic timing'. Bill took it into stride, however, and had designated it time for character building and introspection (his personal definitions of these concepts seemed very off-base).

She could tell he was bored as shit too.

Coming and going was a pain (because of the war), visitors were almost nonexistent (because of the war), and she wasn't one for recreational drugs (because her body was a temple, thank you very much). They were left to their imaginations and magic. It almost made her feel like a kid again. A very bored and over-the-legal-age kid.

It was not in any way progress. Fleur almost felt guilty for all the things she'd done, just to end up here. Her mother had been understanding, but her grandmother? Her grandmother berated her for ruining the sanctity of marriage. ' _You've dishonored our traditions, Fleur_.' She didn't think much of it until the actual wedding, when _she_ was there. It had felt so wrong, to share such intimacy with someone other than her, even if it was an act. Fleur then understood the weight of her grandmother's words.

How could she be putting one foot in front of the other and still be going backwards? (By facing the wrong way).

A faint crack sounded from outside the house. _What the fuck?_

Fleur quickly sat up from her position in alarm and called out from the couch.

"William?"

Hearing fumbling and distant curses, she threw her book on the coffee table and hurried to the kitchen.

"William?" Fleur called out again.

"Someone's apparated here! Didn't you _hear_ that?" Bill hissed. Fleur spun around to look at him, a small amount of tea had spilled onto his shirt, and the tea tray had been messily thrown onto the counter.

"We have to check it out." he said, too insistently to make room for an argument. He took out his wand and silently instructed Fleur to do so too. She could tell his adrenaline had spiked, the same reaction was felt throughout her own body.

Bill took in a deep breath and nodded towards the front door, moving towards it with his legs slightly bent at the knees. He licked his lips as he reached for the knob.

"You ready?"

 _No_. Fleur nodded.

* * *

Fleur wasn't really sure what was going on. And running in the sand was absolutely impossible.

There were three. She easily recognized them, despite them looking like absolute hell. Ollivander, the Lovegood girl, and a boy she remembered by the name of Dean. Bill ushered them into the house, and Fleur's rapid fire questions were easily ignored, much to her chagrin. They must have been in shock — she didn't blame them. Fleur noticed they were all empty-handed, how did they even get here?

"Mr. Dobby will be back soon with the rest." Luna said, breaking the rush of their arrival.

Fleur paused at that. Her mouth opened in question, but nothing came out. Luna had said it so offhandedly, not giving any indication to who exactly 'the rest' were.

Dean pointed to the Horizon. "Look!"

Following his line of sight, her stomach dropped. She knew who that was. Hell, she could _feel_ it. Fleur was out of the house before anyone could say another word.

* * *

Ron was carrying Hermione to the nearest room (incidentally Fleur's), Fleur following closely behind. Hermione was passed out, her breathing too shallow for Fleur to register anything else. Her earlier questions couldn't form on her tongue anymore.

Fleur waved him off to go find Bill (she would rather have Bill witness her inevitable breakdown than Ron, even though the boy looked about ready to have his own).

Dobby had died mere minutes ago. The added stress of a death triggered her instinctual responses, ones she had learned about long ago. (Ones she had learned from her time in the Black Lake). Seeing Hermione like this lit the ends of her nerves on fire.

Her hands shook as she tried to remove Hermione's shirt. It was bloodied and dirty and _why are buttons so hard to undo?_ With unbridled impatience, buttons came flying off the shirt and Fleur muttered unintelligible apologies under her breath.

Her hands still trembled as she held her wand over the gash on Hermione's neck and quickly murmured a spell.

It wasn't working.

She tried again.

Nothing.

For a quick second Hermione stirred from underneath her and Fleur's anxiety skyrocketed. Was Hermione in pain? Was she herself about to have a heart attack? (Both were very possible).

Fleur grabbed a loose sheet from the bed and tore one of the ends into a makeshift rag.

Bill came rushing into the room with an emergency kit.

"She's _bleeding_." Fleur cried, holding the cloth to Hermione's neck. She watched as the redness bled through the thin linen. Bill started unpacking the kit and looked Hermione over.

"They're not too deep of cuts, we can —"

"I've _tried_!" Fleur cut in. In a different setting, she would've realised how harshly she had said it.

Bill shook his head. "It was dark magic then." he said quickly. She watched helplessly as Bill wiped away the blood on Hermione's arm. His face paled. Before she could take a look, he hurriedly wrapped the arm in cloth. Fleur drew her attention back to the cut on Hermione's neck for the sake of urgency.

He nodded to her hand. "Keep pressure on that."

Fleur almost snapped at him. She _knew_ that. They _both_ were curse-breakers, and injuries caused by dark magic were what they'd been trained to treat. Somewhere in her rational mind Fleur knew he was helping. Her initial responses were being traded out with ones of her blood. This, she could not deny. Veela instincts were incredibly single-targeted.

Shit, she could feel herself losing it. Bill had noticed too apparently.

"She's going to be fine, Fleur, they're minor lacerations."

He reached to bandage Hermione's neck. Fleur tensed. Bill stopped midway.

"If you freak out on me, I'll floo your mother." he said, his eyebrows raised.

She drew her hand back, slightly embarrassed. Fleur had 'freaked out' on Bill only once before, and to be fair, 1996 was a bad year for everyone. They had just gotten news of what happened at the Department of Mysteries, and Fleur may or may not have spontaneously set Bill's book on fire (her mother later explained it was a mix of pure adrenaline and her Veela immaturity).

"Sorry." she apologized, watching as Bill adhered the cloth onto Hermione's neck with magic.

"Stop staring at her, she might catch on fire." he joked, although a little humorlessly.

Fleur didn't find it funny.

* * *

Hermione was awake for the funeral. Or something close to it.

Fleur had planned to come check on her before they buried Dobby, only to find Hermione wandering aimlessly through the house. Ron seemed overwhelmingly worried about this. At first, Fleur had written it off as a side effect of extreme exhaustion, but seeing Ron's reaction told her she was missing something.

Hermione had mumbled something about being here earlier than last time, whatever that meant.

She had asked what happened, of course, but was always met with anxious avoidance from both Harry and Ron, and a change in subject. Her patience was wearing thin. If they knew of her condition would they tell her the truth?

 _'Condition'_.

As if it were an illness to be treated. Her grandmother would have a conniption if she heard those words come out of Fleur's mouth.

Ron had held Hermione upright throughout the ceremony. She would not encroach on his faithfulness to his friend. No matter how much the creature inside her disagreed. Fleur knew it wasn't the time nor place for her jealousy (it never was), and her eyes would give her away if she wasn't careful.

Fleur disliked treating it as a secret. It had started off as one for the sake of her and Hermione's youth. (And for the fear of rejection). Now, it was only acting as a burden.

Soon after the funeral, she eavesdropped on a conversation between Ron and Harry (a little too easily, she might add).

They were talking about the Longbottoms.

Fleur knew little about previous members of the Order, but the Longbottoms had been somewhat of a cautionary tale, nevermind that what happened to them was not their fault. Tortured to the point of insanity by the hand of Death Eaters. There was no lesson to be learned other than the cruelties of man.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, an idea formed of what exactly happened to Hermione, but denial was a strong suit of hers.

* * *

As she changed Hermione's bandages, Fleur realized why Bill was so adamant on her not seeing Hermione's arm before. She had thought it was just misguided paranoia. (Something that never seemed to leave). The jagged lettering was staring back up at her now, still haunting its sleeping host. It would have made her throw up — if she had eaten anything.

The first time she heard the word was at Hogwarts during the tournament. A boy in the hallway said it with such disgust and cruelty that her cluster had stopped to look at each other. (A cluster consisting of family members. After all, Veela understood Veela better than anyone else). One of her cousins had asked a Hogwarts student what it meant at dinner one night, and was soon met with wide eyes and a shocked hiss of _"Don't say that!"_

Blood prejudice never had been an issue back home. Her father explained that the English see some things differently — long ago some madman obsessed with the idea of blood purity had created a demonizing narrative onto those who were born without magical parents, and it had stuck ever since.

 _Mudblood._

Placing the puzzle pieces together, she pressed her fingers into her forehead, trying to ease the oncoming headache (it wasn't a headache, she knew this), and released a heavy breath through her nose. Her control was slipping, it had been since Hermione arrived. The Veela inside called for vengeance.

Fleur would need to talk to her mother.

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _Massive Attack - Live with Me_

\- - guys, if you see something that doesn't make any fucking sense, just know my grocery store had a sale on wine.


	11. Somebody Please Tell Me No

\- - apparently things don't write themselves? i was so surprised when i woke from my 3 month nap and this wasn't finished! (if you see mistakes just know that im a huge dumbass)

Chapter 11 - Somebody Please Tell Me No

* * *

Takeout was obviously not an option.

As she sat at the kitchen table cleaning the (nonexistent) dirt out from under her fingernails, Fleur hoped that her guests didn't expect her to actually prepare any food. Other than the fact that she was a terrible cook, she was simply just not in the mood. Her proficiency in kitchen spells only went so far.

And Bill? He was only good at undercooking steaks. (He put too much peanut butter in his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Fleur to call them any good either).

She slumped in her chair, propping up her head with a hand. It had been months (eight, to be exact, but who's counting?) since she moved into Shell Cottage. She and Bill had been on standby for the Order, doing this and that — never making any real progress. The change in pace was certainly surprising, and they were terribly ill-prepared.

Fleur fiddled with the tablecloth. Okay, maybe they _were_ prepared, in a sense. Just not emotionally prepared.

Okay, maybe _Bill_ was.

Either way, she assumes that perhaps she wouldn't have ever been ready for any kind of confrontation, even with all the time Fleur's had to imagine how this would go. (She has. So many times. Just not like this.)

Dean came into the kitchen and Fleur straightened in her chair.

"I hear you've got pasta?" he asked, tilting his head a little to the side. Fleur noticed he was considerably more clean since she first saw him.

"Oh. Um — Yes, in that cupboard," she said, pointing behind Dean. Thank fuck someone knew what they were doing. Fleur slumped back into her chair.

"Mum's a muggle, taught me how to cook." he said, voice a little muffled by the cabinet door. Dean was no doubt rifling through the mess of their cupboard — it would have been embarrassing if she had cared. "She always said that cooking —" pulling back successfully with a box of pasta, he turned to face Fleur, "Is the first step in being happy."

Fleur snorted. "Bullshit."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

' _Fuck_.' Fleur straightened in her chair again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —"

He shook his head with a laugh. "No, it's fine. I don't know what the fuck it means either."

He continued to rummage through the cabinets, picking out a few cans here and there. Dean frowned as he pulled out a saucepan. With one finger, he slid the pad of his thumb across the bottom, and lifted his finger back to his eyes to inspect it.

"You guys don't cook much, do ya?" he asked while wiping his hand on the front of his shirt.

Fleur blushed in embarrassment. The messy cupboard was okay. Dust littering the pots and pans however, was pushing it too far.

She searched for an excuse. She hesitantly opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.

"No, I guess we don't."

* * *

Unfortunately, Bill and Fleur had taken to treating their patients in shifts, which meant equally shared opportunities to be verbally attacked by Griphook.

Which, in relation to their jobs, was more of an annoying inconvenience than anything else.

Opening Bill's bedroom door and stepping through, Fleur found Griphook staring expectantly at her. She tensed at the unsettling feeling running down her spine.

"How many times must we do this?"

Fleur was a little startled at the volume of Griphook's voice, and looked over her shoulder to make sure Ollivander was still sleeping. Fleur returned her gaze to Griphook and back down at the vial in her hand. "It's only one dose."

Griphook narrowed his eyes.

"Still as blind as the rest, I see."

Fleur frowned in confusion. She knew better than to inquire as to what he meant, but his inflection and demeanor practically screamed " _I know something you don't, you stupid bitch."_

"Well, give it here. I don't have all day."

With profound restraint, Fleur held out the vial to Griphook, only for it to be snatched from her hands.

"You may leave now." he said.

Fleur clenched her jaw to keep from saying anything. The goblins at work were… insensitive, yes. But they would very rarely act so hostile. Deciding his words weren't worth her time, Fleur turned to leave.

"Dinner will be ready soon, if you want." she said over her shoulder.

She didn't wait for a reply before shutting the door.

* * *

The kitchen was a mess. In no way did Fleur see the appeal of cooking by hand — muggles must constantly be one messy spill away from throwing the dishes out the window. Bill, thankfully, was thoroughly educated in the art of cleaning spells.

Fleur sat at the kitchen table, her head tilted back to stare at the ceiling while plates and silverware floated past her. The clattering of metal against ceramic played in the background of her bout of dysphoric daydreaming.

Bill broke her trance. "So, did you forget how to function at dinner, or—"

Fleur groaned while covering her face with her hands. "Please don't talk about it."

"I dunno, maybe she's into it." Bill said, dodging a wayward plate that came too close to his head.

Fleur whirled around to face him, her hands gripping the top of the chair. Hard enough to make the tops of her knuckles white.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He laughed and jumped to sit on the island counter.

"You know…" Bill jutted his head forward as if the answer was obvious. "You being in charge."

Fleur's mouth dropped open. "William! I swear one day —"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've heard it before, you spaz." he interrupted.

Fleur gave a huff and watched as Bill's smile dropped. He looked almost confused for a second. Scared, even. She reached out to shake his arm.

"William? Are you okay?"

Blinking rapidly, the smile returned on Bill's face. "Yeah, sorry, that was — weird. Probably nothing." he said, shaking his head.

Unconvinced, Fleur nodded slowly. "I'll go get the blankets for the couches."

* * *

Something just hit her in the face.

Fleur opened her eyes to look over at Bill. His wand was in his mouth, a Lumos spell at the tip to light up the book he was reading.

Without looking up from his book, Bill started talking through the wand held by his teeth. "I think you were having a nightmare."

He turned a page.

Fleur sat up from her position and saw a stray pillow by her couch. "Did you throw that at me?"

Bill hummed in the back of his throat. "Didn't want you to die in your dream."

"You didn't have to _throw_ anything, William." Fleur said.

He responded by holding up his book. "It was getting good."

Fleur fell back on the couch. Her 'nightmare' was exactly the _opposite_ of a nightmare. Or, at least what she remembers of it. She can feel the light sheen of sweat on her skin, the heat between her legs. (She selfishly resents Bill for waking her up.) Fleur shifted uncomfortably, she couldn't even… _take care of it_ , not with Bill there.

"What was it about?" Bill asked, his wand now out from his mouth but his eyes still glued to the pages of his book.

' _Hermione.'_

"I don't remember."

Fleur needed to change the subject. "We need to talk about what we're going to do with… everyone."

"I imagine we could start a Quidditch team, though I seriously doubt the league would consider us."

She sat up from the couch. "Be serious."

"I am, Fleur. It's just that —" Bill huffed as he set the book down on his chest. He turned his head to look at her. "Our job was never to _do anything_. It was to _wait_ for something to happen, nothing past that."

"And now what?" Fleur asked.

"We wait some more."

Fleur flopped back down on her couch. "This is a fucking disaster."

Bill was silent for a few moments before he spoke.

"I'm _one hundred_ percent sure Mercutio is gay." He turned to Fleur and flipped the book to its cover for her to see its title.

"Bonne nuit, Bill." Fleur said, rolling her eyes and turning on her side to face the couch.

Bill scoffed. "I'm just stating _facts_ , Delacour."

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _Mitski - Thursday Girl_

\- - Me? Focusing on Bill and Fleur because I love mlm wlw solidarity? It's more likely than you think.


	12. Well You Just Laughed It Off

\- -YIKES i feel like im turning in a paper 6 months late for a class i was never enrolled in.. thats depression babes! For real though i read through the comments/reviews for the first time the other day cause before i thought it would be a shitty experience but uh wtf.. You guys are really nice. So i edited/changed a little what i wanted to from previous chapters and someone pointed out a french mistake? Thank you! I hate languages

Chapter 12 - Well You Just Laughed It Off, It Was All Okay

* * *

Thankfully, things were quiet for a couple days. Everything had settled down from the initial chaos, but it was... odd. Fleur herself wasn't more than a few years older than the group of students and yet she felt entirely disconnected with them.

Bill was doing fine. She couldn't help but feel a little jealous of how easy it was for him.

He explained it had something to do with her refusing interaction outside from her social circle during her formative years. Fleur knew it was just a nice way to say she was a bitch in school. (She blames it on her blood, her family. There was nothing more exclusive and comfortable than a school clique of fellow Veela.)

But Fleur considered herself lucky— Hermione and Luna were sleeping in her room while Bill's room was occupied by Ollivander and Griphook. He didn't complain much however, seeing as they had already agreed to move Ollivander and Griphook out of Shell Cottage.

It was early morning and everyone was still asleep, except Bill and herself. The blaring light filtering into their living room gave them no chance to sleep in.

As Bill cracked a few eggs in a pan (and one on the floor) Fleur grabbed the newspaper at the table, its headline too large to ignore.

'GRANDE-BRETAGNE EST EN ÉTAT DE GUERRE CIVILE'

Fleur snorted. _Yeah, no shit._ It was a week old— fresh newspapers were hard to come by without an owl, and she had picked it up the last time they were in town purely from muscle memory. She hadn't even bothered to read it before, sure that everything inside was common knowledge. But as she continued to read, the more she grew anxious. It seemed France wasn't going to officially step in anytime soon. Fleur was sure other ministries felt the same.

Bill glanced back as he plated the eggs with a flick of his wand. "You're biting your nails, didn't your mother ever tell you that was unattractive?"

Slapping the paper down, Fleur replied. "Didn't your mother tell you not to call a lady unattractive?" It was childish, she knew, but their shared quips were awfully entertaining.

"Mhmm…" Bill grabbed the newspaper as he took a bite of toast. "Why don't you go up and check on her?" he said, mouth full while he squinted his eyes at the headline. "Large bread is in civil war?"

"Non, Great Britain is." Fleur snatched the paper back. "And It's _your_ turn to check on her."

"Oh! So we're getting turns now!"

"That's not what I meant." Fleur said, taking in a deep breath. "I just— I don't want to… overwhelm her."

Bill turned in the direction of the stairs. "Okay! Hermione will just have to fall in love with me, then!" he said, slicking back his hair. Bill spun around to face her. "Do I look good?" he asked in faux nervousness.

"William, that isn't funny."

"Eh," he shrugged, dropping the act. "I kinda think it is." he said sitting down. Bill nodded to the newspaper. "The French are a little behind, if you ask me."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Yes, they _are_ behind aren't they? Their ministry hasn't succumbed to _terrorists_ just yet."

Bill raised his eyebrows and tsked. "Touché." he said, leaning his head on his hand.

With a satisfied smirk, Fleur brought her eyes back to the newspaper, flicking to another page. "Well? It is your turn to wake everyone, isn't it?" she asked mockingly.

He looked at his wristwatch and sighed. "If I'm not back in five minutes, they've killed me." he said, getting up from his chair and heading to the stairs.

Fleur hummed and waved him off. "A tragedy, I'm sure."

Popping his head back in the kitchen, Bill gave a grimace. "Also, we're out of eggs."

Fleur slumped further into her chair and groaned aloud.

* * *

Hermione's wounds weren't exactly closing. It drove Fleur mad, just as she thought she had fixed it, Hermione would come back later to the living area looking sheepish.

"Hey, uh… Fleur? I think I need some help." she said, turning out her forearm so Fleur could see.

Looking up from her book, Fleur felt sick to her stomach. Immediately, she got up and directed Hermione to the couch. Her bandages were soaked through. It wasn't enough blood loss to be anything close to dangerous, but it was enough to be absolutely horrifying. At least for Fleur.

"Does it still hurt?" Fleur asked while examining her arm. She swallowed. "Like before, I mean?" Hermione's neck looked as it was bleeding less than her arm. She pulled an injury kit from under the couch and took out a cloth to wipe away the blood.

Hermione shook her head. "Not really."

Fleur looked back up at her with slightly squinted eyes— she knew a lie when she saw one (too skilled herself to be fooled). After reciting a string of apologies in her mind, Fleur's fingers applied a small amount of pressure on Hermione's arm with the cloth.

Hissing in pain, Hermione tried jerking her arm back, but Fleur held her in place. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_. For a brief second she had the urge to pull her in. Apologize like lovers would. (They were nothing of the sort, but it was nice to imagine.)

"You're not helping anyone by lying, Hermione." she admonished. It left her mouth before she could even think about how much that made her a hypocrite. Her own lies were needed, Fleur reminded herself. (Most weren't.)

"Sorry," Hermione said, still looking down and nowhere near Fleur's face. She took a deep breath through her nose before continuing. "I didn't want to bother you, you're so busy and—"

" _Please_ bother me," Fleur breathed out. "I've nothing else to do, c'est promis." she said, lightly smiling as she wrapped another bandage around her arm. The timing was distasteful. Absolutely dreadful. She wouldn't push it.

She noticed the faint blush Hermione wore, and couldn't help but want to ride the bravado out.

 _Fuck timing_.

"Besides," Fleur's back straightened out a little. "You're my favorite patient." she said, looking up at Hermione through her eyelashes, only to find her eyebrows pinched and her eyes too wide to seem receptive.

 _Oh shit_. Was she too forward?

"I mean— um," Fleur started, but Hermione cut her off.

"I think," she blinked a few times, oddly enough keeping strong eye contact. "I think we've done this before" she whispered, leaning ever so slightly forward. Fleur looked at her in confusion.

"We have, yesterday." Fleur said slowly. "Are you okay, Hermione?"

"Oh," Hermione gave a nervous laugh, once again looking down. "Sorry, sometimes I feel like…" she shook her head.

Fleur bit her lip. It was obvious Hermione was… a little off. She scooted closer and placed the back of her hand to Hermione's forehead, forcing her eyes up to Fleur's. "You're not running a fever, have you gotten enough sleep?"

Hermione snorted. "Probably not, I think Ron's got sleep apnea, I can hear him from your room."

Still concerned, Fleur didn't register her joking tone. "Maybe you should rest some more during the day." she said, eyebrows furrowed. She had ideas of what Hermione's lapse meant. After effects of the curse must have been afflicting her.

"Oh… sure, I guess." Hermione stuttered, head tilted slightly back to give Fleur room to work.

As Fleur finished the bandage on Hermione's neck, Ron bounded into the room.

"Oi! 'Mione!"

Startled, Fleur looked back over the couch to find Ron jerking his head towards the hallway.

"Harry wants to uh…" Ron looked briefly at Fleur and swallowed. "You know," he stressed, eyes pointed at Hermione. "Talk about—"

"Ancient Runes!" Hermione blurted out. The volume of her voice made Fleur jump. Hermione nervously looked back at her.

"Harry always forgets the uh…" she quickly looked at Ron and then back at Fleur. "The difference between ehwaz and eihwaz!" Hermione shot up from the couch. "I must admit I had a hard time with it too," she neared Ron and looked back at Fleur again. "Did I tell you I missed that on my O.W.L.s?"

Ron nudged Hermione's shoulder with his own, seemingly to get her to stop talking.

Fleur confusedly opened her mouth to comment but Hermione beat her to it. "Thanks Fleur! I really appreciate it." she said, walking quickly out of the room with Ron, who had his head ducked down and rapidly whispering something to her.

 _What the fuck?_

* * *

Ollivander was leaving.

And Griphook wasn't.

When Harry told Bill and Fleur they needed to keep Griphook at Shell Cottage for a bit longer, Fleur was sure she had just lost the remaining brain cells she had.

Groaning, she flopped onto the nearby chair as Bill chuckled nervously. It was simply planned. Send Ollivander and Griphook to Muriel's. Wait for more instructions. Fleur should have known nothing was ever that simple with Harry Potter.

"You're serious?" Bill asked incredulously.

Harry nodded.

Bill scoffed. "Mate, I'm pretty sure Griphook took like five years off my life when I was working under him, you gonna give an explanation to why he's gonna be here to take _another_ five from me?"

"We need him to—" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "He's just _important_." he finished.

Fleur shook her head and almost let out a humorless laugh before Bill cut in unexpectedly.

"Okay." he said seriously, crossing his arms and nodding at Harry. "I'll trust you on this."

Speechless, Fleur snapped her eyes to Bill. _What was he thinking?_

"Thanks, Bill," Harry nodded. He turned to her, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Fleur." he said with a grimace, and walked out of the kitchen.

Throwing her hands up, Fleur scoffed. "Are we not going to talk about this first?"

"I think I know what they're doing." Bill said, scratching his neck.

Fleur jutted her head forward, urging him for an explanation.

"Think about it," he started, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite to her. "Griphook's got pull with the other goblins. Harry's probably negotiating."

"Negotiating _what?_ "

"To pick a side, more importantly, _ours_." Bill stressed. "You know the Order was having difficulties with them, _especially_ after Bagman kept shorting them with that debt he has with them."

Fleur knew Bill was right. She remembered his failed attempts of trying to appeal to them around last year. They had almost fired him. Their distrust of humans (of anyone) kept them neutral in the war, and Fleur wasn't sure what would make them even consider siding with the Order.

She shook her head. "What the hell would Harry have to offer?"

Bill leaned forward. "You kidding me? That kid's got plenty to offer." he said, jerking his thumb in the direction Harry left. "Griphook knows that too, or else he wouldn't even be talking to him."

Leaning back into her chair, Fleur sighed and let her eyes roam around the room. "Alright." she said when her eyes got back to Bill. "But I don't want to be left in the dark about this, if any deals are being made in this house, we have to know about it."

Agreeing, Bill nodded his head. "Fucking hell."

* * *

They weren't just out of eggs, they were out of everything.

Going into town was kind of risky, especially since Fleur's estimated shopping list greatly exceeded what was expected of a young couple. It wasn't exactly the kind of activity needed for their low profile, but the more trips into town was slightly more dangerous. Or so they were told.

To make make matters worse, they didn't have what money they needed on hand.

Gringotts was tricky. Since the Ministry was currently occupying the bank, and the Ministry wasn't exactly the Ministry anymore, Bill and Fleur weren't sure if they should even go near it.

"Alright, the shopkeep over there," Bill nodded a little ways in front of them. "Order member, knows my dad. Says you're better off out here, some Ministry folk inside might make it difficult."

Fleur bit her lip and nodded.

"I'll be back, don't worry." Bill said with a reassuring smile.

She sighed. "Yes, alright. Just— be careful."

Watching him go was a sight to see. Bill was so sure of himself. Relaxed in the most dire of situations. Fleur grew anxious, what if the shopkeep gave bad information? What if their account had been frozen? (Another thing that came along with being fake married was a joint account, something her mother wasn't so sure about.)

Hearing a rather loud cough behind her, Fleur turned to find one of the Gringotts bankers, Bagnok.

"Ah, Miss Delacour," the goblin tilted his head up to meet Fleur's eyes, looking at her just over his nose.

Fleur didn't bother to hide her shocked expression (or to correct him on her married name), it wasn't any normal day that a Gringotts employee accosted her _outside_ of Gringotts.

Bagnok cleared his throat once again and gripped the lapels of his suit jacket. "I must admit, this is getting rather tiresome." he said, looking around them to catch any prying eyes.

"Excuse me?" Fleur asked, taken aback by his boldness. She messily followed his line of eyesight in attempt to fill in the gaps that she was missing in this conversation.

Raising his hand to return her attention to him, Bagnok continued. "I wouldn't normally agree to this…" he waved his hand around, "Interference."

Fleur shook her head, extremely confused.

"But seeing as no one can do anything _themselves_ anymore," Bagnok hissed, "I do find these measures appropriate."

 _This was getting ridiculous._ "What are you talking about? What measures—"

Frowning, he hastily cut her off. "Well then, this conversation didn't matter. Now, if you'll _excuse_ me." Bagnok finished, briskly walking past her.

Fleur could only stare with her mouth open. Was everyone out to fucking get her today?

As he neared the entrance, Bill came out the door and nodded his head in acknowledgement to Bagnok, sure to hold the door for him.

He stopped mid-entrance. Fleur couldn't make out what was being said, but the quick exchange between the two seemed to cause Bill to look down at his coin purse and nod his head at the goblin.

Bagnok nodded and continued into the bank.

Walking quickly towards her, Bill looked at Fleur with wide eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with him? I was about to—" Fleur balled her hands into fists. "Ugh!"

"I take it you had a run in with him too?"

"Yes!" Fleur hissed.

Bill chuckled. "He asked me if I was going to use _this_ ," he pulled up the coinpurse to eye level. "Responsibly."

Fleur gave an exasperated huff and crossed her arms. "This is exactly why I didn't want to go inside, we get treated like _children_."

"Really? I thought it was because the Ministry freaks inside would want to detain you."

Fleur waved him off as they headed in the direction of the market.

Something wasn't sitting right. Bagnok wasn't in their sector of the bank, far from it, and they barely had any encounters before which involved talking. But he talked to them with a casualness only a person with the upper hand would.

"What if he knows?" she asked.

Bill stopped walking and turned around, causing Fleur to bump into him.

"Knows what?" he asked insistently.

"I don't know… " Fleur shook her head. _That our marriage is fake? That we are harboring fugitives?_ "Do you think Griphook—"

"There's no way," Bill cut in. "I don't think Griphook's been in contact with anyone from Gringotts since the Ministry fell."

Fleur looked back toward the bank. Hopefully they wouldn't be back there soon. "Let's get the _hell_ out of here."

Bill nodded and dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. "Dean gave us a list, kid knows his shit." he said with a grin.

Grabbing the paper, Fleur raised her eyebrows. "It looks like we are shopping for an army, William."

Laughing and shoving his hands in his pockets, Bill shrugged. "Aren't we, though?"

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: Modest Mouse - Float On

\- - i love being dramatic so i WILL say I rewrote this chapter like 10 times! and finally i just said fuck it. There are probably mistakes i just can't read


	13. Don't Confront Me With My Failures

-Hey cuties! i'm writing this while i have the chance. And happy late new year's! Also not to break any sort of immersion but can you guys just… assume the French people are, ya know… speaking French to each other?

Chapter 13 - Please Don't Confront Me With My Failures (I Had Not Forgotten Them)

* * *

Carrying in the horde of groceries they had just bought, Bill and Fleur crossed the threshold of Shell Cottage to be caught in the middle of… _something_ in the living room. All of their guests (besides Griphook of course, who had most definitely locked himself in Bill's room) were looking at Ron— who was sitting on the floor along with Hermione, waiting for him to continue whatever he was saying.

Ignoring the start of Ron's words, she watched as Hermione flung a pillow at his head, effectively cutting him off from his sentence and throwing him right into full-bellied laughter. The rest of the group greeted them as Bill chimed in.

Fleur, however, was far from the conversation, instead focusing on the tight grip Hermione had on a blanket. The same blanket she slept with on the couch every night, including the more… impassioned nights in her room alone. (Alone, she reminded herself. Even if the vividness of her imagination was overpowering sometimes.)

After watching Hermione take a (not so subtle) long inhale through her nose and slightly shiver, Fleur realized Hermione was drawn to the pheromones saturating the blanket. The thrill of being wanted (no matter how indirect) shot through her in the most inappropriate of ways and she was surprised she didn't drop everything right there.

Gripping the bags she was holding tighter, Fleur followed Bill into the kitchen, holding down the feeling that crept up from her chest.

"William," Fleur started, quietly enough to not be overheard by her guests in the next room. It wasn't a secret— and really had no business being treated like one, but Fleur couldn't help it. Hushed tones were becoming instinctual.

Bill hummed in question and turned around to face her, leaning his hip a bit on the counter.

"I'll be going to France tomorrow." She said, putting the bags on the counter, carefully minding the glass jars in them.

Bill looked contemplative for a second, then nodded in understanding. "Yeah. Said your mum's got somethin' for 'Mione's arm?"

Fleur stilled. She never told him that.

"Guess we'll just have to have all the fun without you." he continued, giving an over-exaggerated shrug as he crossed the kitchen to unbag the groceries.

Fleur studied the back of Bill's head in thought. Maybe she had mentioned it in passing? She furrowed her brows trying to recount their conversations.

Bill turned and took her rumination as something different. He backtracked, slowing his efforts in shelving the food.

"I'm kidding, Fleur. We'll all sit by the fire all solemn like, waitin' for you to come back. Promise."

Fleur waved him off. His joking tone relieved her minor lapse (in what, she wasn't so sure). The stress of everything (it was much easier categorizing it all into, ' _everything_ ') was getting to her.

"Just be safe."

Bill gave a mock salute. "Aye Aye, Cap'n."

Fleur gave a half-hearted roll of her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't believe he could handle himself— or their guests, without her. No, he was a very talented wizard and had proven that many times over their years at Gringotts.

But it was the fact that Bill had a very loose understanding of what 'safe' meant, and— by their track record, so did the majority of everyone in the cottage.

* * *

If her mother saw how she got from Britain to France, she would probably strangle her. The Order had enough people through Europe for a makeshift Floo Network private from the Ministry— she never asked how it worked, but it seemed _very_ illegal. Fleur could only imagine what it would look like on a map, maybe a zigzag constellation from hell. However, once she landed in France, she could use their Ministry's Floo Network without being taken into custody.

The first few places she knew, homes of Order members that she'd made acquaintances with. But the further she got, the more often she had to identify herself using the more… impersonal route.

The code was impressive charm work, really. A simple phrase charmed to ring ever so slightly in the ears of the recipient when spoken. But it sounded ridiculous, and Fleur almost cringed every time the words, 'Jeremy Bearimy,' left her lips. The strangers would nod and direct her to the next checkpoint, seemingly not bothered with it.

Landing at the French Ministry, Fleur charmed the soot off her clothes (which was a lot, apparently after you hit the eighth fireplace, you become more soot than anything else) before stepping onto the last hearth. She would not risk looking like a mess in front of her mother, not while they're having a disagreement.

She scoffed quietly to herself. Three years of arguing was too long to be considered a disagreement.

Carefully reciting her destination, Fleur closed her eyes (she had gotten floo powder in them as a child) and stepped forward.

Once she was out of the green flames, Fleur took in the smell of pure nostalgia as she walked into her family estate. It was odd to feel so at home and yet so far from it. She wondered if they had changed anything from her last visit.

"Maman?" Fleur called out. Her eyes searched the living room, enviously regarding the lavishness that Shell Cottage lacked. The couches, she noticed the most. How their fabric was _not_ tearing at the seams, and how the pattern _wasn't_ ugly faded stripes. She paused, wondering if her materialism was unattractive.

Hearing heels click on stone, Fleur turned around to see her mother.

"Fleur! I've got your letter, is she—"

Fleur sighed, cutting her off.

"Yes, she's okay it's just…" she trailed off, swallowing and closing her eyes briefly.

Apolline raised her eyebrows. "Just what?"

Fleur shook her head. "Nothing, she's fine."

 _It's hard to watch her bleed so much._

Apolline squinted her eyes in skepticism and motioned for Fleur to follow her into the kitchen.

Fleur scoffed at her mother. "Are you not going to ask how I'm doing?" she asked. They hadn't seen each other for several weeks, maybe even a couple months.

"I already know how _you're_ doing, my Fleur! And I must say it's not fun to think about!"

Apolline reached over the counter to grab an apothecary bag, tsking as she did so. "These will help with the curse."

Fleur reached for the bag, relieved for an answer for once. "Thank you, Maman—"

Swiftly bringing the it to her chest, Apolline wagged her finger in Fleur's face. "Ah ah ah! These are not free."

Fleur raised her eyebrows. _Of course, nothing is ever that easy._ "Maman, this isn't—"

"You must tell her, Fleur." she said curtly. "That is my price."

She understood why her mother was so adamant. It was all very natural and deeply rooted within herself as a Veela and blah blah blah. She'd heard all the lectures. Fleur herself did not believe in most of them, until…

"This really isn't the time."

Apolline threw her hands up in irritation. "Then there will _never_ be a time!"

Fleur set her jaw and cast her eyes toward the ground. She'd learned over the years that it would be better to ride out her mother's rants silently. (But that was much too hard to do.)

Apolline shook her head and shuffled around the glass vials inside the bag. "Every time! All of these opportunities, and you pass them off!"

Fleur defeatedly threw herself down on a counter stool and ran a hand through her hair. "Are you saying I should have made a pass at her at my own wedding?"

"Why not! It was fake anyway!" Apolline said a little hysterically, picking up a glass bottle and inspecting it before putting it back.

"Maman…"

"Whatever the reason, that wedding was still disrespectful to our _culture,_ Fleur." Apolline shook her head, halting her movements. "Your grandmother is still upset."

Apolline looked up to gauge Fleur's reaction. Fleur wasn't going to give her one. How important could respecting her culture be if there was not a world where it could exist?

Sighing, Apolline pointed to a smaller pocket on the bag. "These three will work the best."

Fleur relaxed. Her mother always relented, one way or another. But for the sake of either time or her own patience, she wasn't sure.

"Where is Gabrielle? It is Easter break, is it not?" Fleur asked.

"Your father and sister are—"

"Fleur!"

Fleur spun around to see her father all but run down the stairs, Gabrielle trailing a bit behind him.

He picked her up in a bone-crushing hug, spinning her around. (Only once, he was not in the same shape as he was in his prime.)

"Fleur! You write letters to your _mother_ for advice, but not me? I am the human one!"

Bertrand Delacour (née Renoir— it was custom to pass on the Veela's surname) was probably the nicest man Fleur knew. Working as a senior research director for the French Ministry (Hermione would quite like that), he would often come home and (enthusiastically) try to teach a (rather uninterested) young Fleur about ancient runes and magical theory.

She could only assume that had been what he and Gabrielle were doing upstairs, given the look of pure relief on her face and the rather worn looking books she was holding when she came down.

"I never ask for advice, Maman's is always unsolicited."

She could hear her mother start to protest before her father waved her off good-naturedly.

"Well here's mine: Do not _stare._ Your mother wouldn't stop _staring_ after we first met."

Apoline slapped his shoulder lightly. "Bertrand!"

Laughing, Bertrand feigned hurt. "What? It was completely unnerving!"

She'd heard the stories about how they met. Bertrand would go into theatrics, reciting the wonderful color of Apolline's blush when they had first been introduced, the beautiful weather that day (even though they were inside), and the sweetness in the air when they shook hands.

Apolline's version was more condensed and to the point. She worked as a department recruiter and held an interview for him, asking for a coffee date not a minute after. (Fleur noticed that her mother had a knack for disregarding the importance of what was considered appropriate when it came to these things.)

Bringing herself back to the conversation, Fleur then seriously considered if she was staring at Hermione lately. (Yes, quite a lot.) And she wondered if Hermione had noticed, or more importantly, if she had noticed and was _unnerved_ by it.

"Have you kissed Hermione yet?"

Fleur's eye twitched. Gabrielle was relentless. Even when they hadn't seen each other for such a long time, she found a way to completely ruin a moment.

She could see her mother stiffen out of the corner of her eye, obviously interested in her answer.

"And how is that your business?" Fleur asked, rather annoyed.

Gabrielle threw her hands up in exasperation. "You are all _boring._ "

As Bertrand gave an indignant snort (he knew it was a personal attack on their studies), Gabrielle launched herself into Fleur for a hug.

"But don't worry, I still love you."

After making sure they both didn't topple over, Fleur hugged her sister tightly, feeling warmer at her sister's (rather sarcastic) endearment.

Fleur selfishly imagined whisking Hermione away to France, to be with her family. (It was the Veela way, to live closely to one another.) The _actual_ Delacour estate, which was much larger and much more opulent, resided not even a mile away. But Fleur was in no position to face her other family members— more specifically her Grandmother, after the stunt she pulled with Bill.

Her father broke her out of her reverie. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

Fleur's eyes flicked to the wall clock and felt the familiar bubble of anxiety in her throat. "I've been gone for too long."

She could see the disappointment in her father's eyes as he nodded. Bertrand was not Veela, he couldn't truly understand the direness of her situation.

Apolline, however, had already expected her impatience to get back and all but shoved the apothecary bag in Fleur's hands and tightly wrapped her in a hug.

"Do not be afraid to love, my Fleur." she whispered fiercely, kissing her cheek before releasing her.

Fleur nodded to appease her mother, having no more energy to argue with her assertiveness.

Gabrielle appeared seemingly out of nowhere to hand her a seven-inch vinyl. "Can you give this to back to Bill? Tell him I thought it was too much yelling."

Fleur laughed as she took it. Gabrielle and Bill listened to muggle music religiously, swapping songs back and forth only to disagree on every front. It would have been cute if they did not think of themselves as highbrow connoisseurs.

Her father lightly grabbed her elbow, leaning in a bit to speak.

"I'll see you off," he nodded towards the fireplace. Looking back at the rest of her family, she gave her last goodbyes before leaving the kitchen.

Making it (a bit slowly) into the living room, her father turned to her with a smile.

"What is that silly thing they make you say? Jeremy Bearimy?"

Hearing a high-pitched ring in her ears, Fleur opened her mouth in surprise. She blinked quickly and tried to sort her words.

He laughed. "I quite like it!"

Still in shock, Fleur tried speaking. "You… how—"

Her father winked before continuing. "An old dog can still learn new tricks, my Fleur."

Without hesitation she hugged him fiercely as he let out a big 'oof.'

"And the English aren't so bad." He said as they withdrew from their hug. Bertrand looked contemplative for a second. "But their food…"

Fleur's lips twitched up in a smile as he made a shooing gesture.

"Go! Before you mother starts up again!"

Leaving was always so hard.

* * *

The trip back to Shell Cottage was considerably easier than to France, as she was already familiar with the route. Fleur pondered over her visit, her father's new membership to The Order of the Phoenix, her mother's incessant pestering, and most of all Gabrielle's teasing. Fleur wondered if she could get away with teasing Gabrielle when _she_ finds herself in the same position.

(Gabrielle wouldn't be in the same position. She did not posses the same cowardice Fleur did.)

Her musings were halted when she heard yelling coming from inside the cottage. Fleur brandished her wand as her heart jumped from fear.

 _No, no, no, no._

She turned to knob (nearly almost forgetting to) and shoved the hard wood with her shoulder with more force than she intended to. She called out into the Cottage.

"William?"

Fleur neared the living room, her wand still tightly clutched in her hand as she heard rustling. She could feel the adrenaline and the subtle spike of her Veela instincts gnawing at her as she turned the corner.

It was… not what Fleur expected.

She saw Bill clumsily try to hide what looked like a liquor bottle under the couch and everyone's wide eyes looked up at her in surprise.

Fleur's eyes briefly caught Hermione, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a blush so vibrant and hair so tousled that Fleur had a hard time focusing on the task at hand.

But she was more than distracted by Bill's drunken state. Does he not know how foolish this was?

It was then Fleur noticed her hands shaking from unreleased tension. She pocketed her wand and all but threw the apothecary bag on the ground.

Him struggling to stand enraged her further. Had she not just spent _hours_ crossing borders illegally? And here he was, acting like a child caught in the liquor cabinet.

What if she had been a Death Eater? He could hardly stand straight, much less point his _wand_ straight.

She could hear him trying to speak, trying to placate her anger. It would have worked, if Hermione wasn't sitting _right there,_ looking at her _like that._

"Can we talk privately, William?"

She turned to the kitchen before he could reply.

* * *

Their fight had been heated but not long (with a few tears on Fleur's part). She knew she had overreacted and Bill was right. In all honesty, she wasn't sure what made her so mad. (She was, but it wasn't something she would like to admit.)

Fleur gave an excuse about her mother, something Bill would understand more than what it is like to be a Veela. She was more or less traumatized by Hermione— and by extension, her group of friends. A moment alone for them meant a moment of self-destruction, no matter how deliberate or dangerous. Fleur would only see the aftermath. The aftermath of the Department of Mysteries, the aftermath of Malfoy Manor. She'd heard the horror stories of what they had gotten themselves into the years before she knew any of them, and she would rather not recount the gruesome details again.

And Bill wasn't exactly the watchful eye that made them shy away from such behavior.

So, being gone— even for those few hours, had triggered thoughts. The what if's and the maybe's had haunted her mind (and body) in the long trip to and from France. Making the tips of her fingers tingle and a pressure form at the forefront of her head.

It was all very stressful.

And to add onto it, Bill just _had_ to say it.

'I don't think you should change her bandages tonight, Fleur.'

She would have been extremely offended if it weren't for the fact that Fleur greatly respected Bill. But how could he tell her what was best for Hermione when Fleur was her—

Fleur absolutely abhorred the word. It seemed animalistic at worst and possessive at best.

 _'Mate.'_

But he was right, it was extremely late. Hermione was, at best, drunk, and Fleur was a little more than off the rails.

She dug through her bag, remembering what Gabrielle had given her, and handed the vinyl to Bill despite the exhaustion in her limbs.

"She said there was too much yelling."

Bill scoffed. "That's the _point!_ "

Fleur could sleep tonight knowing that everything would be there in the morning.

* * *

Chapter title inspired by the music of: _Nico - These Days_

\- literally i started this holiday break and finished, then TWO WEEKS passed cause I didn't know what i wanted the chapter title to be askldfnalskdl


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